


Becoming Odella

by balneology3



Series: Life as Odella [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Complete, F/M, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of slavery-type situations, Mild torture, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-25
Updated: 2012-12-25
Packaged: 2017-11-22 10:30:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 43,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/608858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/balneology3/pseuds/balneology3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mysterious, young woman shows up on John and Sherlock's doorstep. When she refuses to talk, Sherlock takes it as a challenge to unravel her haunting past. What happens when both men discover they care for this broken woman?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> All mistakes are my own  
> Can also be found on fanfiction.net

 

She opened her eyes and gazed around her small closet-like room. Her eyes adjusted to the dim light and she lay there, staring at the deep scratches that ran down the door. For a moment, she was taken back to the time when she had first been thrown in this dark space; she had clawed at the door for hours in attempt to get out but only managed to reduced her nails to broken slivers.

She slowly sat up and was careful not to bump the yellow bruises that blossomed across her ribs. In one respect she was glad for them; as long as they were visible enough that makeup nor sheer cloth couldn't hide them, she wouldn't be forced to perform.

For the past few months, she was kept as a dancer to perform in a heroin den. At least, she thought it had been just a few months. She wasn't really sure of how much time had passed; only allowed to come out of her room at night and for an occasional bathroom break.

She was a prisoner, forced to dance for the entertainment of junkies in return for escaping her past. In the early days, she had refused, completely unwilling to dance at the will of others, but after a few rounds of mild torture, she gave in.

Looking around her small space again, she paused at her small table cluttered with thick makeup and costume jewelry. Her costumes were hanging next to the table, shimmering and sparkling in the half-light. Oh, how she hated the red lipstick and sequins she donned almost every night.

She hated the makeup, the clothes, the way her hips swayed and the way, the once joyful sound of music, became a form of torture. She hated everything.

Early on, she had learned to get dressed slowly, taking her time before her performances to give the druggies enough time to become pleasantly high, making them much less grabby.

Some nights though, she was the one becoming drugged, causing her to black out. When she woke up, she was often bruised and in various states of undress. She was never sure what happened during these nights and she refused to acknowledge the ideas that crashed against her skull, preferring ignorance.

Sighing, she decided that stretching would not agree with her bruised ribs and rolled back onto her thin mattress.

 

~

_**Two Days Later** _

"Fifth body in the last two months. Heroin overdoses, all of them. There has to be some underground drug ring we have yet to uncover."

"Well, obviously." Sherlock huffed under his breathe, a look of undisguised boredom artfully clouding his face.

"Sherlock." John Watson warned before turning back to the Sergeant. "He'll look into it."

"Why?" Not really caring for the answer but rather for the sake of aggravating his flatmate and companion, Sherlock tilted up his nose like a spoiled child dramatically.

John have him his usual  _I disapprove_  look and repeated, for both men: "He'll look into it."

"Thank you." The man got up and walked down the stairs.

"People are dying because of some secret, illegal business. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Not when the victims are the cause of their own death. Not everyone can handle heroin but many try to." Sherlock ran a long finger across the inside of his elbow in remembrance. "But if it will shut you up, I'll keep my eyes open."

"Good. Well. I'm off to the market. Care to join me?"

"I suppose I will. You never buy the right kind of milk." Sherlock wasn't complaining, just stating a fact.

"Of course I don't." John shook his head and bit back a smirk.

Grabbing his coat and scarf, Sherlock led the way out of the flat and onto the sidewalk of Baker Street, stepping out into the darkening evening.

 

~

She could hear men beginning to fill the large basement room down the hall through her door.

Pulling an outfit from its hanger, she looked down at her body. Regrettably, her bruises were losing their sharp hue. She slipped the dress over her head, noticing with distaste how it hugged her body; Sheer material flowed around her long legs and revealed panels of skin around her waist. If she looked closely enough, she could see a hint of yellow through the material around her ribs, but the low lights would hide it.

She put her makeup on in a numb state, not caring how smudged it may look.

Hearing the door being unlocked, she turned away from her defeated reflection to face one of the few henchmen trusted to escort her into the den.

Although the man had never said anything since the first time he was given the job to guard her, she could tell he enjoyed watching her lose her fire-y spirit. So far, all the men in her life had.

Positioning herself on the raised platform, she felt the few lights focus on her.

"Gentlemen, turn you attention to the gem that is Opal." The words rang out over the plush couches, coming from the center of the room. Without looking, she knew her one of her two employers was the source of the introduction.

Almost every pair of eyes fixed on her exposed flesh. Gritting her teeth, she didn't move even after the music had started until she locked gazes with her employers. Dark eyes flashed warningly, forcing her hips to sway or else.

She had learned to keep her face neutral, not responding to wolf whistles or suggestive looks. She intentionally commanded her mind to remain blank, focusing on her movements than anything else. It made the nights slip by faster and kept her from analyzing everything that had gone wrong since she had arrived in London.

It was in her timeless state of mind that a flash of light caught her eye. Her sparkling sequins reflected off something metal clipped to a man's pants pocket; a pocket knife?

She kept the man in her peripheral vision, glancing over occasionally until she was certain that the metal object was, in fact, a knife. With her mind reeling, she couldn't help but think that if she waited long enough, she could lift it without the man being conscience enough to know. Although it had been awhile since she had pick-pocketed anyone, she had to try. What she would do after she had the knife in her possession, she didn't know.

Not sure of how much time had passed since the man arrived, she decided to move from the raised platform to dance around the room instead. She mentally made a route through the packed settees, her end point being the knife-carrying man.

Carefully avoiding looking into the faces of the men she passed by, she didn't want to see the hungry looks that unnerved her to the core. She made sure to skirt around hands without looking like it was intentional, afraid that the possessive touches would undo her carefully placed, calm mask.

Arriving at last to her real destination, she felt relief that the man was sitting on the dark couch alone with the back of the couch shielding the rest of the room from his lap. From what she could see in the dim light, his eyes were half-closed and had an unfocused, glossy look to them. The drugs had already taken the desired effect, leaving the man unaware of his surrounding.

Arching her back and lowering her arm, she lightly pinched the knife between her fingers. Luckily, the clip didn't snag anywhere and glided smoothly out of its pocket.

To hide that she had anything in her hand, she raised her arm to disguise her palm in the folds of her skirt. Curling the empty handed arm above her head, she turned her back to the crowd and quickly stuffed the knife in her cleavage. Moving like liquid, she slid back onstage and curtsied to signal she the end of her performance.

As soon as the lights were lowered away from her, she stole into the shadows. Unfortunately, her guard was waiting for her. She made sure to keep her face blank and not give any sign of that something was different. She made a motion towards the restrooms, silently asking to go relieve herself.

Marching her to the bathroom, he followed her in, making sure she was alone before closing the door behind him as he walked out, waving his hand for her to hurry.

Thinking fast, knowing she only had a few moments to come up with a plan, her gaze landed on the window placed high on the wall, just above the ground on the outside. There was no way for her to reach it but she stood on the toilet and cracked it open anyway. Hearing him pound on the door, she slipped behind it, flattening herself against the wall.

She held perfectly still as he slung open the door in irritation and looked around the bathroom in confusion until he spotted the opened window. Striding across the small space, he stuck his head out the window and craned his neck to look around. This was her chance to make a run for it.

Just as she made it around the open door, her hip bumped the knob, moving the door back and creating a slight creaking sound. Frozen in fear, she watched the man jerk back around and zero in on her.

His mouth twisted into a grin and he latched onto her arm, hard. "Thought you could pull a fast one, did'ja?" His breathe was scorching as he yanked her towards his steel embrace.

She panicked. Screaming wouldn't help, who would come to her rescue? Pulling out the knife from between her breasts, she thanked her lucky stars that it opened quickly, the blade flashing in the light. A switchblade, then.

Surprise flickered across the man's face as she thrust the blade into his side and yanked it at an angle towards her, leaving a gushing, jagged slice that sprayed blood on her and the surrounding area. The man's arms withdrew from her and he fell to the floor.

Still clutching the knife, she ran out of the building and onto the street. She blindly flew across the pavement, not stopping until she heard sirens. Frantically looking around, she realized she was in front of a black door with gold letters marking the door: 221.

She placed a bloody hand on the knob and was relieved to find the door unlocked. Starting up the stairs, she paused when a wave of dizziness made it almost impossible to keep her balance. Falling to her hands and knees, she pulled herself up a few more steps and made it to a door mat outside a door to a flat just as a fuzzy darkness began to appear around the edges of her vision.  
 _Maybe if I just lie here for a minute..._

_~_

"Was it really necessary to insult the lady at the check out like that? She was only trying to be polite."

"Politeness is so enervating." Sherlock swung his long legs out of the taxi, leaving John to carry the groceries.

"All I'm saying is...Sherlock, what's wrong?" John stopped his preaching when he saw his flat mate standing stock still in front of their door.

Bending down, Sherlock inspected the doorknob, noting the blood smeared across the metal. "John, we have a visitor."

Slowly, he creaked open the door and immediately spotted prints of blood along the top stair steps. From their position, both men could see something lying in front of their door.

The pair moved up the stairs cautiously and came to stand side by side on the landing. Lying in a heap was a young woman, covered in blood.

"My God. Do you think she's dead?" John didn't think anyone who had lost that much blood would still be alive.

Sherlock shrugged, "You're the doctor."

John cleared his throat. "Yes. Of course." He knelt down and checked the woman's pulse "Still alive, just passed out."

Sherlock nodded like he already knew the answer and squinted his eyes a the body before him.

"What do you think? Prostitute?"

"No. Look at her makeup." Sherlock paused, waiting for John to inspect the woman's face.

"So? It's really heavy?"

"It's stage makeup."

"She's a performer."

Sherlock hmmed in agreement. "But not by choice, I don't think."

When John looked at him in confusion, Sherlock explained: "Look at the state of her nails. Any performer would pay special attention to their appearance. This woman's nails have grown back crooked, like she broke them scratching at something."

Kneeling, he gently picked up her arm by the elbow. "There appears to be a bruise forming." With his other hand, Sherlock matched his fingers against the discoloring. "She was recently grabbed, quite forcefully, by a man with very large fingers."

Standing back up, Sherlock opened the flat door. Casually, he steeped over the woman and began taking off his coat.

Realizing that John was still on the landing, trying to find the source of blood, Sherlock decided to speed up the process. "It's not hers."

John looked up, "The blood. Only her right hand is covered as if she held a knife. She was facing the person she stabbed, judging by the blood spatter. By the looks of it, she also killed them."

"Ah yes. How could I have missed that. So what now? Do we ring the police?"

"John, if she wanted the police, I don't think she would have hidden in a dark and, at the time, empty building. She doesn't want anyone to know she's here."

"Well then, I guess I'll see about cleaning her up." Scooping up the girl, John carried her into the washroom. Sherlock heard bath water running as he collapsed onto the sofa. Over the sounds of water hitting the tub, he could hear the rustle of light fabric and water swishing around.

John carefully wiped blood and makeup away and began checking for any more bruises. Slightly uncomfortable with having an unconscious and very naked woman in the tub, he had lain towels across her chest and hips. There was no telling what would happen if she woke up and realized she was undressed and in a stranger's bathtub.

Finding nothing life-threatening but noting the yellow bruises on her ribs and small, fading scars that seemed to cover her from toe to shoulders, he tilted her forward to check her back. He stared at the marking for a moment before leaning around the doorway, making eye contact with a lounging Sherlock.

"You might want to see this."

"I'm not sure I want to see you man-handling some poor girl in our tub, but if you insist." Sherlock could see color flush to John's face before he disappeared back into the bathroom.

John had an arm across her chest, supporting her weight on it to allow the girl's back to be clearly see. On her left shoulder blade was a raised, pink scar in the shape of an O. Sherlock ran his middle finger around it and guessed the mark to be only a few months old.

"What do you make of it?" John asked in a concerned tone.

"It's a branding, to prove ownership of something, like they do with livestock." Sherlock's gaze followed her spine, noticing random inch long scars decorating the skin, most likely from a knife.

"She's clearly not livestock." John looked confused and a little horrified.

"Clearly. But she  ** _is_**  someone's property. At least, they seem to think so." He looked a little excited at the thought.

"No. She's not property, she's a human being." John didn't miss Sherlock's interest, although he was still disgusted at the thought of someone owning another person.

"Your human being is getting cold." Sherlock walked out with an amused look.

Looking back at the girl, John noticed goosebumps forming on her arms and could feel two peaks pressing into his own arm covering her chest. Feeling flustered, he drained the bath and lifted her out of the tub. Wrapping her in a towel, he carried her into the living room.

"Is there anything we could cover her up with?"

"What's wrong with the way she is now?" Sherlock seemed to find entertainment in John's obvious discomfort at the young woman's lack of clothing.

Choosing to ignore Sherlock's teasing, John asked, "Would Mrs. Hudson have any clothing she could lend?"

Sherlock looked a the girl and shook his head. "Her clothes wouldn't fit. This girl's chest and hips are larger than Mrs. Hudson's." John was clearly trying not to look to confirm. "I think one of your shirts might work and a pair of my night pants. Her legs seem to be longer than yours and we don't want her ankles getting cold, now do we?"

After depositing her on the couch, John went to gather up the clothing. Sherlock took this opportunity to really look the girl over, trying to gain any clues about who she was.

Scars covered her body, much like the ones on her back, only smaller. Without her makeup on, Sherlock guessed she was early to mid-twenties. Looking at her legs, he could see toned muscles under the honey colored skin. A dancer, maybe?

Even though she was well-rounded, Sherlock was surprised to see her skin stretched slightly over her ribs. Not enough to be called starving but she was not definitely not fed on a daily basis.

She was naturally tan, so Sherlock assumed she isn't originally from London. The sun didn't shine often enough to create that golden color.

Taking a closer look at her mahogany colored hair, Sherlock could safely say that she hadn't had her hair cut in a few months, judging by the dead end that curled up at the tips.

And that was all Sherlock could conclude about this strange woman for now. Once she came to though, he was sure he would know more.


	2. Chapter 2

He was still standing over her when John returned with the clothes.

"Sherlock, you're being a little creepy. What if she wakes up? I doubt she'll respond too kindly when she discovers she's in some stranger's home, dressed only in a towel, with a sociopath standing over her, watching her sleep."

Waving his hands in reassurance, Sherlock sits back in his chair.

"She won't wake until later," he confidently says, as he snaps open the newspaper from that morning.

John looks at the girl and then at the clothes in his hands. "Are you going to help me dress her?"

Without putting down the paper, Sherlock's voice sounded from behind the headlines, "I have no problem with her nudity. You're the one who blushes every time you find yourself staring at her breasts."

Sighing in frustration and embarrassment, John unfolds his t-shirt and carefully slips it over the woman's head and arms. He couldn't help but catch himself doing what Sherlock had already observed, his gaze naturally drawn to her now shirt covered chest. He was human after all and when was the last time he had even seen another women naked?

"Four months, two weeks, and 5 days," Sherlock said matter-of-factly, still hidden by the newspaper wall.

Feeling his face heat up, John knew he shouldn't be surprised that Sherlock kept track of his sex life.

After dressing her, John studied the girl again, this time taking in her features.

Her oval face had bow shaped lips, big almond shaped eyes, cheekbones that were high but nowhere near as sharp as Sherlock's, and a nose that seemed to have been broken at least once. She wasn't extremely beautiful but there was something attractive about her.

Long arms and legs ended with slender, tapered fingers and toes. Full breasts and hips stood out against her smaller waist, creating an hourglass. Wavy, mahogany hair went down to her elbows and the fineness of it could be seen in both her eyebrows and eyelashes.

Whoever she was, she was bound to be missed.

Sherlock sighed and tossed the paper onto the coffee table, not finding anything that interested him. He pushed himself out of the chair and headed to the bathroom. He returned with the bloody dress and a small switchblade held between the sheer fabric.

"I believe this is the weapon she used. It was clipped to the inside of the dress's bust. A nice hiding place for stolen goods; few people would think of searching between a woman's breasts." Sherlock inspected the casing.

"How do you know it isn't hers?" John refused to think too much about Sherlock's words.

"It's much too masculine for a women found in something like this." He plucked at the bloody dress, "And there is a smudged fingerprint on the blade. Look at her fingers. The prints have been burned off, making it harder to identify her. Besides, this print is bigger than what her fingers could produce, pointing to a male being the most likely owner of this knife."

Sherlock put on his coat and scarf. "I'm going to the lab to see what I can get off of these," He held up the dress and knife.

"Wait. What am I supposed to do?" John looked a little worried. "Just stay here with a possible thief and/or murderer?"

"Don't be so dramatic John. She hardly weighs enough to take you down." He walked out of the flat but stuck his head back in. "And John. Keep your hands to yourself," he couldn't help tease.

John blushed and yelled, "I'm not an animal, you know."

"Well, technically, _homosapians_  are considered members of the  _Animilia_  kingdom." Sherlock's voice could be heard down the stairwell.

_Smart-ass._

John settled into Sherlock's chair and picked up the discarded newspaper. He could feel exhaustion creep in and looked at his watch. Ten o'clock. That meant Sherlock probably wouldn't be back until midnight.

Sighing, he turned on the television in hopes that he would stay awake.

 

~

Sherlock wasn't surprised to find there were no matches for either the blood nor the fingerprint.

He opened the flat door and saw John slumped in his chair, snoring. Slamming the door to announce his return, Sherlock casually hung up his coat and sat down at John's laptop.

"D'ja find anything?" John was trying to shake off his sleep, turning off the television.

"No," Sherlock said happily. "Looks like I'll have to find things out the hard way."

John rubbed his face and looked at the girl still sleeping on the couch. "Do you think it's healthy to be out of it for that long?"

Sherlock glanced up from the glowing computer screen and watched the girl for a few moments. "She's probably still in shock."

"Mmm," John agreed and went to the kitchen. Sherlock could hear the kettle being put on.  _That man and his tea_.Turning back to the screen, Sherlock saw movement come from the couch.

"John. She's waking up." He didn't move from the desk, deciding that John could handle whatever came next.

The woman mumbled something and slowly blinked. Staring around in confusion, forest-green eyes tried to focus on their surroundings.

 _Where am I?_  All she remembered was blood. Looking at her body, she was surprised to see not a drop of red and instead of her dress, she was wearing a t-shirt and pajama bottoms. Someone had undressed her. Even though she had had experiences like this before, she always ended up back in her dark room. Now, she didn't know where she was. Panic was crowding her mind, making it difficult to breathe.

Sherlock sat perfectly still as to not draw attention to himself as he watched the woman. She was certainly surprised and panicked when she discovered she wasn't anywhere familiar and in a change of clothes.

He watched as she patted her cleavage and searched around her until she spotted the knife on the coffee table. Snatching it up, she cradled it.

John came in with a cup of tea and the woman's eyes instantly widened with fear. She quickly hid the knife behind back before John could see it and watched his every move.

"I, uh, see you're awake. if you don't mind, I'd like to check your vitals." John made to move towards the girl and she shot off of the couch, swaying a bit as she did.

"Calm down. You really shouldn't be moving around much." Trying to sound soothing, he slowly eased over closer. John had barely laid his hand on her arm when the woman jerked away, still slightly unbalanced.

Moving to steady her, John caught an elbow is his gut as the girl began to thrash against his arms, panic and fear dictating her body.

"I'm trying to help," John gritted his teeth in irritation. Looking over at Sherlock, John could see him sitting there observing with an amused expression.

"Are you going to help me?" He couldn't help but think that not only should the woman not be thrashing about like this after passing out but she shouldn't have this much strength.

"The knife," Sherlock offered.

"What knife?' John was getting angry.

As soon as the words left his mouth, the girl wrenched free and flicked the switchblade open in her hand.

"Right. The knife she stole and possibly murdered someone with." This woman definitely more trouble than she looked.

Sherlock saw John hesitate, unsure of what to do.

"Well, don't just stand there and wait for her to disembowel you. You  ** _do_**  have have military training." Of course Sherlock knew that she couldn't really hurt John, but the sooner this scuffle ended, the sooner he could ask some questions.

John's hand struck out and swatted the knife to the ground. Taking advantage of the woman's surprised state, he grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back, giving him the upper hand.

Everyone was impossibly still and silent until the defeated girl let out a whimper of pain. Sherlock knew it was fake, but John, being the sympathetic man that he is, immediately released her with a look of worry on his face.

Realizing she was free, the woman took off towards the open bathroom door and managed to lock herself in before John could stop her. After trying the doorknob, John turned back into the living room and sighed, his concern still showing.

"You didn't hurt her, you know." Sherlock wasn't entirely happy about this sudden turn of events. Amused? yes, but happy? no.

When John looked confused, Sherlock waved his hand towards the bathroom door. "She was faking it. Somehow she knew you would fall for it. Maybe because you positively ooze sympathy." Sherlock wasn't teasing but stating a fact. "I'm surprised she picked up on it so fast. Interesting," he was getting lost in his thoughts, replaying the woman's reactions in his head.

"So, what now?" John looked exhausted.

Staring at him for a moment, Sherlock remembered that, unlike himself, John needed sleep. "You go on to bed. She'll be fine," he added when his flat mate glanced at the closed bathroom door. "In a few hours, I'll pick the lock and bring her out once she realizes we aren't here to harm her."

John still looked a little unsure but he nodded anyway and headed to his room.

 

~

_Damn._  She was hoping there was a window in this bathroom, but no such luck. She would have to wait it out.

Sitting down on the bath mat, gathered her thoughts. No knife, no idea where she was, and no idea who the blonde and dark headed men outside were.  _Great._

 _Well, they have to sleep sometime, right?_  She just had to wait until they were both asleep to escape. Meanwhile, this bath mat was kind of nice.  _I'll just lay my head down and then I can look under the door to see what was happening out there_.

She watched for signs of movement through the crack between the door and the floor until she became too tired to hold up her eyelids. Moving so much earlier had really worn her out.

 

~

Sherlock had watched the door for a few hours now. He walked up to it and placed his ear against the wood. Only soft breathing could be heard from the other side.

He bent down and skillfully picked the lock. Pushing open the door, Sherlock found the young woman curled up on his bath mat, fast asleep.

He watched her for a moment, wondering what she was dreaming about that made her crinkle her eyebrows like that.

Sherlock scooped the sleeping girl up and carried her onto the couch where he covered her with a throw. He could see why John was physically attracted. She was aesthetically pleasing with her hourglass figure, full lips and large, almost brown eyes.

But what attracted Sherlock was the branding, the large quantity of scars, the caged-animal demeanor, and the puzzle surrounding the mysterious woman. Judging by her previous reaction, he didn't think she was going to be particularly pleasant to study. Good. He didn't want this to be too easy.

 

~

She woke up on the well-worn couch, with the feeling that someone was watching her. She immediately drew the blanket around her in fear when she realized the dark-haired man was observing her with interest.

They sat there, studying each other. She took in his dark suit that covered the long, pale limbs underneath and his still, unwrinkled face. Gunmetal blue eyes betrayed no emotion and watched her, calculating. She had found that she was pretty good at reading people at just a few glances, but he was harder to figure out. He scared her but now days, everything did.

Looking around, she saw experiments, paper and unusual objects scattered everywhere. He was smart, always thinking, always looking for something to solve.

Sherlock was watching her watch him. He could tell she was trying to figure him out by the way she would glance at something of his and then back at his face. She studied everything: his crossed legs, his steepled fingers, his tailored clothing, his odd possessions, everything.

He could see her intelligence in her eyes but when she saw him looking, she curtained it off behind a vacant stare. Sherlock knew that she knew that he knew about the never ending thoughts and observations that were similar to his own, but she guarded them just the same, out of habit.

They were still staring at each other when John shuffled in. He froze, glancing back in forth between Sherlock and the girl, trying to figure out what was going on.

Clearing his throat, John broke the intense silence, "Good morning." He snuck a glance at the woman on the couch and found her focusing her dark eyes on him now, instead of Sherlock. Shifting uncomfortably, John looked questioningly at Sherlock.

"She's reading you," Sherlock sounded a little impressed. "It's like what I do but much slower, of course."

When the girl seemed satisfied that John wasn't an immediate threat, she looked over his dark brown sweater and jeans.

Unlike the other man, this one was open with emotions and reactions. She could tell by the laugh lines at the corner of his eyes and the way he stood unguarded.

Clearing his throat again, John addressed the woman, "I'm John Watson and this is Sherlock Holmes. I'm a doctor and he is a consulting detective."

When the woman continued to stare blankly at him, he asked, "Do you have a name?"

Sherlock snorted. "Don't be daft. Of course she has a name."

Shooting Sherlock a disapproving look, he turned back to the girl, expecting an answer. The three of them sat in silence until Sherlock spoke again. "She won't speak. Not that she can't, she just chooses not to." It seemed like he was thinking more out loud than explaining her lack of speech.

It was then that she spotted rays of sunlight coming through the sheer curtained window. Enraptured and taking no notice of John's quizzical look and Sherlock's observant one, she walked towards the window, amazed.  _How long had it been since she'd seen sunlight?_

The men watched on as she flattened herself against the chilly window, straining to see as much of the rising sun as possible from her location. She closed her eyes and sighed when full, unobstructed waves of sunlight warmed the window and her skin. When she had stood there long enough to cause the glass to fog up from her body heat, she reluctantly turned away from the window. She blushed when she realized the two men were watching her.

Sherlock had his eyebrows pulled together in thought, analyzing her reaction to the sun. John, on the other hand, looked from the glass that had an outline of fog in the shape of an hourglass, to the woman's chest. Two peaks stood out against his white t-shirt, caused by the chill that the window still held from the night.

Following John's gaze, both Sherlock and the girl's eyes found their way to her breasts. Sherlock didn't know who blushed more, John or the woman, not really understanding why John continued to act this way.

Crossing her arms around herself, the woman slowly made her way back to the couch, sitting as far away as she could from either man, curling up in the space between the couch and the armrest.

John, still embarrassed, mumbled something about breakfast and disappeared into the kitchen.

The girl and Sherlock sat in silence until John came back in with a plate of food. Without making any eye contact, he laid the plate on the coffee table in front of the wary woman. "You should eat," he said before sitting on the other end of the couch.

When she didn't move towards the food, John looked to Sherlock, waiting for him to do something. Sherlock had seen her suspicion grow as soon as the plate was set down.

"She thinks it might be drugged." He was proven right when the woman's face darkened with an answer.

"Maybe you should take a bite of it to show her it's not." John sounded exasperated.

"I've already eaten. Sorry." Sherlock didn't sound sorry at all.

Not seeing any dishes in the sink, John wasn't convinced Sherlock was telling the truth. "Oh, really? When?" he challenged.

"What is today?" Sherlock asked.

John paused, wondering what Sherlock was playing at before answering "Tuesday."

Sherlock made a sound of triumph and smugly said, "I ate two days ago and positively couldn't eat for at least another day."

John sighed. _Sherlock and his odd eating habits_. Leaning over slowly so as to not startle the already on-edge girl, John picked up the fork and took a bite of scrambled eggs. "See. No drugs, no poison. Just food."

The girl nodded and slowly reached for the plate after John moved back. Satisfied that she was going to eat, John turned to Sherlock. "A word. In the kitchen." He tilted his head in the direction of the other room and got up.

The woman watched them go and when they were both through the door frame, she shifted positions to allow her to eavesdrop easily while eating.

Looking down at her plate, she tried to make herself hungry, but like Sherlock, she had been fed yesterday morning and couldn't bring herself to eat anything. She knew though, that by tonight, her stomach would start cramping from being empty and by then, she couldn't physically refuse any food, even if it was drugged. Which it usually was.

Wanting to make it look like she had eaten some, she looked around for a place to hide her eggs, her gaze landing on the couch cushions. Glancing over her shoulder, she made sure no one was watching as she raised one cushion up and scraped half of her eggs underneath it, adding a piece of bacon for good measure.

Fitting the cushion back snugly, she took a timid bite of the other slice of bacon before shoving the plate away.

 

~

"What do we do with her? Give her to the police?" John asked Sherlock as soon as he thought they were out of earshot.

"So she can be taken to a homeless shelter or kicked onto the street? Not likely. The police won't know what to do with her and will eventually give up trying to figure out who she is. I think it best if she stayed here."

John was surprised at Sherlock's compassion. He was obviously interested in the girl for some reason.

"What about Mycroft? Do you think he could help find out who she is?" John knew Sherlock's brother wouldn't like helping with a trivial thing such as this but it was just an idea.

"Absolutely not! He would file her under a junky turned prostitute and be done with it." Sherlock didn't want the elder Holmes poking his nose in this mysterious woman's past. That was his job.

"So, what then? You want to let her stay until someone comes to claim her? She's not a stray dog, Sherlock. And what if nobody comes for her?" John wasn't sure he was comfortable with the idea of the feisty stranger living with them.

"Just long enough for me to figure out who she is. She is just a distraction while we are between cases. She can sleep on the couch."

"But we don't even know her name!" John argued.

"Then give her one. I'm sure you can think of something fitting." Sherlock left John in the kitchen, thinking about his decision.

 

~

The girl jumped when Sherlock came back into the living room.

Skittish little thing, isn't she? Sitting back in his chair, he steepled his hands and waited for the woman to meet his eyes. _Hmm. Not comfortable with eye contact._  Sherlock wasn't surprised. He had already deduced that this woman had been abused in some fashion, creating trust issues and leaving a scared, helpless shell.

 _Not entirely helpless_ , his brain reminded him.  _She did kill a man and outsmart John._

"You have no place to go." The girl began to realize that sentences like these were statements, not questions.

"I don't normally do this, in fact I've never done this, but I'm offering you a place to stay. You may sleep on the couch until we can arrange your next place of residency." Sherlock noted the flare of anger at his pity offer and saw her chin angle up with a wounded pride. He was sure she would accept meekly but after this display of stubbornness, his certainty took a step back. He'd be disappointed if she didn't stay, she being a nice distraction from the mind numbing boredom he experienced when he didn't have a case, but he was certain he could light something of John's on fire to entertain himself for at least a few hours if she said no.

Slowly, the woman nodded, accepting Sherlock's offer.

"Excellent. I believe Mrs. Hudson has a few necessities that will hold you until we can pick them up from Tesco. John, will you go down and ask if you can borrow some things? I doubt our guest would enjoy sharing your toothbrush for the next few days."

"Why my toothbrush? You're the one who invited her to stay," John muttered under his breathe as he made his way down the stairs.

 

~

"Hello, John dear." Mrs Hudson ushered him into the flat. "Would you like some tea?"

"Uh, no thank you. I was..wondering if you hand any soap I could borrow?"

When Mrs. Hudson looked confused, John went on, "We have...acquired a female guest and Sherlock thought you might having something appropriate."

Mrs. Hudson's eyebrows drew up at the mention of Sherlock being thoughtful of anyone. "A female? A girlfriend of yours?"

"Oh no, no. She..well, she kind of just appeared on our doorstep. We don't know who she is but for some reason, Sherlock is determined to find out."

"Well, I'll be happy to share a few things." She began gathering things from under the bathroom sink. "What's her name?"

"Um..she doesn't seem to want to talk so we don't...really know." This whole situation sounded ridiculous now that he's said it out loud.

"Sherlock will have a bit of fun trying to find out, then. Here you are." She handed John a bag of lavender soap and an unopened toothbrush.

"Thank you." John turned to leave but stopped. "Mrs. Hudson, you wouldn't happen to know a nice name for a girl, would you? Sherlock insists that I name our guest."

"You know, I just finished a wonderful romance novel. It was set back in Ancient Greece with all the Greek gods like Aphrodite, Zeus and Athena, and beautiful temples..." Realizing she was prattling, she blushed. "Anyway dear, the main character was named Odella. As soon as I read that, I fell in love with the name. I think it means song in Greek."

"Odella," John tested it out in his mouth. "Odella suits her fine. Thank you. Again."

 

~

When John returned to the flat, he saw the girl back at the window and Sherlock watching her. He set the bag on the coffee table.  
"Luckily, Mrs. Hudson had some extra things." Both Sherlock and the girl turned towards John. "Also, I've come up with a name for you, if that's alright?" John looked at the woman standing in sunlight.

"Well, let's hear it, then." Sherlock sounded a little aggravated that John had interrupted his observations.

With both person's intense gaze focused on him, John couldn't help but fidget a little. "How does Odella sound?" He tried to make eye contact with the woman but she quickly lowered her eyelashes.

Surprisingly, Sherlock didn't object, but instead seem to consider it. "It will do. If that's what she wishes to be called."

The girl nodded once and went back to watching the morning traffic on Baker Street.

"Right, then. I'm off to work." Grabbing his jacket, he paused in the flat doorway.

He looked from the girl -Odella- to Sherlock and was hesitant to leave them together. Finally, he gave a pointed look to Sherlock. "Play nice, Sherlock."

Stepping out onto Baker Street, John knew he would worry about Odella all day; she looked so innocent, standing in a sunlight that set fire to the red in her hair while Sherlock looked like he was plotting something.  _Please, please don't do anything that I wouldn't approve of._

 _Odella. It was a nice name. Better than Opal and the one before that. Olivia, was it?_  She couldn't really remember.

She watched John hail a taxi and even from two stories up, she could see the worry lines between his eyebrows. Turning away from the window, she locked eyes with Sherlock. He was looking at her like she was difficult math problem. She drew her arms up and hugged herself as she made her way back to the couch, Sherlock's gaze never leaving hers.

Although her body showed her retreating into herself, her eyes remained sharp and on guard.

"John seems to think you are some wounded, helpless animal. And you are. But there's more to you then that, isn't there?"


	3. Chapter 3

Sherlock saw her eyes flash with objection at the term 'helpless' but it was replaced with interest when Sherlock continued.

"From what I've gathered, you are mid-twenties and not originally from London, judging by you fading tan. You've been in a type of bondage; the branding on your shoulder suggest that someone thinks they own you. It obviously wasn't pleasant, leaving you scarred physically and emotionally.

You were held somewhere enclosed explaining your fascination with the sunlight. You haven't seen it for a long while. Your lack of speech makes me believe you were alone in your confinement and haven't spoken a word for quite some time.

The people involved were male. The way you shy away from both John and myself is unconscious, your mind unwilling to trust men. So not only physically abused, but perhaps sexually, too. You retreat into yourself whenever you catch John looking at you. Even though you are completely clothed, you act as if you are exposed. There is a small scar on your upper arm, different than the others. My guess is that it's a new form of contraceptive, much easier than the pill, so someone wanted to make sure you didn't get pregnant." Sherlock paused, gauging Odella's reactions to his deductions. When she continued to stare at him, he went on.

"When you arrived, you were covered in blood. So much so, that the owner of it is most likely dead. So far, you have shown no remorse. Either you're in shock or you generally don't care. Most likely shock, seeing as you have yet to react to the fact that I've blatantly told you that you have been abused. Now that you have been removed from that, I expect you to have some form of breakdown in the next few days, once you realize the seriousness of the situation. Also, you will likely experience withdrawals from whatever drug you have been regularly given. Luckily, John is an adequate doctor and can help you through it.

Now, to make my intentions perfectly clear; I find your scenario interesting. I plan on finding out as much as I can about your past. Not for your sake, mind you, but because I like puzzles, and you, my dear, are puzzling.

What I ask of you is that you do not touch any of my experiments, stay out of my way, and do not bore me. Don't expect me to bother being gentle. I'm not here to coddle you, I'm here to unravel you. John is the caring one." Odella met Sherlock's intense gaze, indifferent of his intentions. Plucking at the hem of her shirt, she cocked her head just a bit, and studied the man sitting across from her.

"Hmm. You're relatively clever, too. I know that and you know that, but I assume you don't want this to become common knowledge. So John doesn't need to know just yet. I'll warn you though, he will tip-toe around you until he realizes you're not going to go on a murdering spree at any moment. Once that happens, you'll have to learn how to say no to the infinite mugs of tea he will insist on forcing upon you." Sherlock's lips turned up in a fond smile.

Standing abruptly, he yanked on his coat and wound his navy blue scarf around his neck. He wanted to check the missing persons list at the station. Even though he doubted he would find anything, there was always a chance he could be proven wrong. A very, very slim chance, but a chance no less.

Turning back to Odella, he pursed his lips. "I shouldn't be gone long. Feel free to watch telly or whatever normal people do. If you need something, our landlady, Mrs. Hudson, is downstairs and can be trusted. Don't touch anything of mine." And with that, Sherlock whipped out of the flat with his coat billowing behind him.

Odella sat there for a while before her curiosity got the better her.

Walking into the kitchen, she was greeted with a dozen unfinished experiments scattered on the counter tops and table. Notebooks, test tubes and the occasional unknown item seemed to cover any and all available space.

Returning to the living room, Odella approached the overflowing book shelf. She read a few titles and stared at others she couldn't begin to pronounce or appeared to be in a foreign language.

So far, most of the flat looked as if it belonged to Sherlock. It was then, she spotted a brown armchair that actually had a somewhat tidy perimeter. Stepping closer, Odella could see short blonde hairs catch the sun. Bills were organized on the table next to it and a mug full of pens was placed at the corner. Finally, some space that was clearly John's.

Turning away form the chair, Odella saw two doors. One of them, the closest, she knew was the bathroom but the other, she could only assume was Sherlock or John's room. Opening the door, she soon decided that the room was definitely Sherlock's:  
The bed was unmade, books were strewn across the floor, and bits up paper were pinned to the wall. Most were held up by thumbtacks but a few were held in place by daggers, a fork, decorative letter opener, and... _was that a high heeled shoe_?

Observations, notes and thoughts were scrawled, not only on the paper, but also on the wall itself. Behind the door hung the Periodic Table with the same, almost unreadable handwriting crowing the space around the elements.

A dark cherry wardrobe held tasteful clothing, mostly in black but with the occasional dark purple or navy blue article of silk peeking out.  
But if this was Sherlock's room, then where was John's? Odella highly doubted they shared judging by the pure Sherlock-eness of the place. Thinking about last night, she remembered that after locking herself in the bathroom. Sherlock insisted John go to bed. Closing her eyes, Odella thought about where John's footsteps took him.  _Upstairs._

Stepping cautiously out of the flat, she climbed the stairs. Passing above a door, she could hear the sounds of a television through the floor below her. Odella figured that this was Mrs. Hudson's flat. She walked slowly as to not give herself away and continued up the steps.

Opening the door, Odella stepped in, closing the door behind her with a soft click. Sunlight shone through the only window and provided enough light for her to look around. A double sized bed was placed against the wall with a small nightstand next to it. The bed sheets and covers were pulled tight around the corner of the mattress so tight, that there left no room for wrinkles.

Pulling open the bedside table drawer, Odella's gaze was immediately drawn to a black gun that took up most of the drawer. Ignoring the weapon, her eyes moved to a prescription bottle shoved to the very back of the drawer. Picking up the bottle, Odella angled the label to the sunlight. JOHN HAMISH WATSON - TAKE 1 TABLET AT BEDTIME FOR PAIN Underneath that was the name of the prescription.  _Why was John in pain?_

Moving to the dresser, Odella tugged the drawers open. Socks, underwear, khakis, jeans, sweatpants, t-shirts like the one she was wearing, and cable knit sweaters took up the top four drawers. Opening the last drawer, she was confused at what she saw at first. Inside was a set of fatigues that had seen action. So John was in the military. Gingerly lifting up the sleeve, Odella saw a red cross sewed to the upper arm. Army doctor, then.

Pushing the drawer back in, she looked around and realized that the bed, nightstand, and dresser were all that the room contained. Now that she had seen the uniform, the way the bed was mad and the way John's shoes were lined up at the foot of the bed made sense. he was used to being orderly. Maybe the prescription of pain medication had something to do with John's tour.

Deciding that she had seen enough, Odella walked back tot he flat. Snuggling back up on the sofa, she drifted to sleep, questions about the two, very different men buzzing in her mind.

 

~

John looked at the clock hanging on the wall. It was a quarter 'til eleven, which meant he left Sherlock alone with a woman who has been traumatized almost three hours ago. So far, he's heard nothing from Sherlock or Mrs. Hudson so maybe there hasn't been a problem. Yet.

Picking up the phone, he hesitated for a moment before dialing Mrs. Hudson.

"Hello?"

"Mrs. Hudson, it's John."

"Oh, hello dear."

"I just wanted to phone and see if there's been any...trouble from upstairs."

"No, I haven't heard anything since Sherlock left."

"Wait, Sherlock went out? By himself?"

"Yes. About an hour ago."

Pinching the bridge of his nose, John asked, "Did he say when he would be back?"

"No, just that he wouldn't be long."

Knowing that Sherlock's perception of time wasn't always accurate, John sighed. "Could you go up and check on Odella, then? I can't believe Sherlock just left her there." He should have never put Odella in Sherlock's care, even for a few hours.

"Of course, dear. I'm sure she's fine but I'll pop in for you."

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson." Hanging up, John quickly sent a text to his flatmate.

_Where the hell are you?!_

_Trying to convince Lestrade to give me the list of missing persons. Where else would I be? -SH_

_You_ _**should** _ _be at home. You can't just leave a potentially unstable stranger alone in our flat!_

_She is not unstable. At the moment, anyways. -SH_

_How could you possibly know? You're not even there! Oh, right, you're Sherlock bloody Holmes._

_I refuse to tell you what I've discovered if you insist on being so childish -SH_

_I'm childish? Really? Who throws tantrums and pouts around the flat like a spoiled brat?_

_I do not pout -SH_

John huffed and decided he wouldn't give Sherlock the satisfaction of responding.

Clearly, he didn't need a response; John's phone bleeped again, signaling another text from the detective. Staring at the screen for a moment, John finally gave in and read the text.

_Call me -SH_

John sighed and hit the dial button.

"It is safe to assume that you are capable of handling someone experiencing withdrawals, yes?" It took a second for John to realize that Sherlock had asked him a question, completely avoiding any type of greeting as usual.

"Yes. I _ **am**_ a doctor."

"Good. I recommend that you gather everything that is needed to make a person as comfortable as possible throughout the experience. I suspect it will start in the next few days and because of her less than desirable physical state, she might have a worse go of it."

"Wait, who are we talking about?"

Sherlock sighed. "Odella. Do keep up, John."

"Right. And you think she will come unglued from not having a fix in the near future?"

"What you call a 'fix' is her being starved and then, out of hunger, being forced to eat food that has been drugged. But to answer your question: yes, I think she will have a difficult time coping with what has and is happening to her."

John rubbed his forehead. This did not sound like fun. "So what did you find out?"

 

~

Odella opened her eyes to the sound of knocking

"Dear?"

She jerked off the couch, fear prickling at an unfamiliar voice. She quickly located her knife on the coffee table, but as soon as she looked at the person standing in the doorway, she knew she wouldn't need it.

The small woman walked in. She was a skinny little thing with hair that had once been auburn but now had gray streaks running throughout. Her eyes immediately softened when she saw Odella.

"Hello there. John wanted me to come up and check on you." She took in Odella's rumpled appearance and slightly wild look and her motherly instinct that never left her went into overdrive. "You just sit right down and let me fix you a cup of tea. Alright?"

Odella nodded and watched the tiny woman filler into the kitchen. Grabbing the fleece blanket she had thrown to the floor, she wrapped it around her shoulders and padded to the window.

The sky was somewhat cloudy but Odella could see sunlight reflecting off of car windows. Unlike earlier, the window was now slightly warm. Flattening her palm against the glass, Odella ached to feel the sun's warmth directly, not just through this hint of heat that lingered on the glass. Sighing, she knew she couldn't risk going outside in case someone recognized her.

She could hear the woman, who she guessed to be Mrs. Hudson, humming in the other room. The tune plucked at Odella's memory and images crowded together in her mind: a woman sweeping a small kitchen floor, a soft hand smoothing back her hair while saying a quiet goodnight, a bright smile and shining green eyes like her own, and finally, a closed-coffin funeral and the haunting purple color that marked her own body and that of the woman being lowered into the ground.

"Sweetheart?" Mrs. Hudson's concerned voice snapped Odella into the present and she realized she had been staring, petrified, at the kitchen.

Her mind and eyes seemed to be the only thing that was able to move and Mrs. Hudson had to gently guide her to the couch, wrapping Odella's shaking hands around a warm mug. "Drink."

Fighting the bubbling panic in her chest, Odella obeyed, trying to calm herself. Sherlock's deep voice echoed in her mind, '... _I expect you to have some form of breakdown in the next few day_ s...' reminding her just how unstable her mind may become. All she could think was  _Oh God, it's starting._

She became aware of Mrs. Hudson still by her side, rubbing light circles on her back, watching the distressed girl with concern. Odella breathed deeply a couple of times and finally offered the landlady a weak smile of gratitude.

"Alright, then?" When Odella nodded, Mrs. Hudson stood up. "Hungry?"

Odella felt herself blush as she thought of her breakfast hidden under the cushion she was sitting on and shook her head.

"Just as well. I doubt there is anything edible in the fridge anyways." The older woman set about tidying things around the room, not wanting to leave Odella alone just yet.

She was straightening the books on one of the bookshelves when the flat door opened and Sherlock breezed in, mobile pressed to his ear.

"Yes, yes. Mrs. Hudson is here and Odella is fine." His voice sounded irritated that he had to reassure the person he was talking to.

Unwinding his scarf, he rolled his eyes a the phone and finally managed to break away from the one-sided conversation with a swift goodbye while throwing his coat onto the back of his chair.

"Mrs. Hudson, thank you for checking on Odella. John was beside himself with worry." Sherlock's words were brisk as usual but Odella could pick up a trace of affection as he addressed the other lady.

Smiling, Mrs. Hudson waved her hand, dismissing the thanks.

Odella felt Sherlock's gaze move from his landlady to her and he _hmmmed_  in interest, like he knew she had had her first 'episode'.  
"Sherlock? Could I speak to you?" Mrs. Hudson's voice was careful but Odella knew she wanted to talk about her.

"Of course." Sherlock's intense eyes finally left Odella's face as he led Mrs. Hudson into the stairwell, closing the door behind him.  
"You do realize that poor woman is..." Mrs. Hudson looked away, unsure of how to finish the sentence.

"Broken? Yes, of course I'm aware." Sherlock knew something must have happened for the landlady to come to that conclusion in a small amount of time.

Mrs. Hudson's uncertainty was replaced with pity, "I was bringing her a cup of tea when she completely shut down and I had to help her to the sofa. And her eyes; I don't know how anyone could look so empty and so full at the same time." She placed a hand ot her chest and her face was so openly sad, anyone could see she had already taken to Odella.

Sherlock wasn't interested in any of that, though. "Did you do something that triggered her actions? Did you yell, touch her, anything?" Mrs. Hudson looked surprised that Sherlock wasn't concerned about the effect, just the cause.

"No, I don't think so. I was just making tea in the kitchen. I was humming, but I don't see how that could-"

"What were you humming?" Sherlock was already steps ahead.

"I can't remember. I'm sure it was just nonsense." Mrs. Hudson floundered under Sherlock intense gaze.

"Are you sure? Without the proper elements, I won't be able to recreate what happened." He was watching her closely, trying to give her a mental shove towards remembering.

"Recreate? You want to make that child loose her mind?" The landlady's voice held disbelief, genuinely worried for Odella.

Waving off Mrs. Hudson's disapproval, Sherlock barely tried to hide the annoyance in his voice. "The sooner she remembers something, the sooner I can help her find her way home." Though Sherlock didn't particularly care where Odella went after he solved the mystery of her past, he deliberately played up to Mrs. Hudson's motherly side.

"Well, just be careful. She is a human being, after all." The older woman turned away and walked down to her own flat.

_So everyone keeps reminding me._

_~_

Odella had heard them talking outside the flat but couldn't make out any words. The thought of moving closer to the door to eavesdrop crossed her mind but instead, she found herself back at the window.

Hearing the door open again, Odella looked over her shoulder. Sherlock looked a little surprised at finding her at the window when she could have been behind the door, listening to his and Mrs. Hudson's conversation.

Still watching him, Odella's eyes followed Sherlock's path to his chair where he practically threw himself in before returning to watching the midday traffic.

"In less than twenty-four hours, you've managed to unintentionally make your way into the affections of two people; Both Mrs. Hudson and John feel the need to protect you from me. They think that I can't be _ **humane**_  enough to actually help you. They're scared I might break you even more." Sherlock's voice softened, something he rarely did but knew it would weaken the cruelty of the truth in his next words. "But, there isn't much left to break is there?"

Odella's hand clenched around her mug. She could handle Sherlock's tone of distaste and disapproval but as soon as his voice lowered to something similar to pity, she felt her lower lip tremble. Fortunately, the anger she felt towards herself for getting teary eyed forced the wetness behind her eyes down her throat and out of sight.

From his chair, Sherlock could see Odella's shoulders tense and saw her hand grip her cup in anger in her reflection.  _Responds to unexpected kindness._

Absently running his thumb across his bottom lip in thought, he stayed silent until the tension coming from Odella gradually lessened. "Was it something important?"

Odella jumped slightly, lost in her own thoughts and unused to anyone speaking to her. Turning around, she leaned against the window and waited for Sherlock to elaborate.

"Whatever you remembered. Was it important?" She tapped her fingernail against the mug, and frowned.  _Was it important?_  All she saw where pieces, fragments of her life before London, but nothing revealing. Just glimpses of details. She shook her head and sighed.

Sherlock could see she was agitated. She was swirling the liquid around in her cup and biting the inside of her cheek, trying to figure out what was going on in her mind. Her fingers danced across the mug like they would rather hold a pen, than a cup of tea.  _Now there's an idea._

Standing up, he walked to the desk, careful to avoid getting too close to Odella when he noticed her flinch at how near he had become, and rummaged through the drawers. Seeing what he was looking for, he snatched it up, flipped through it to make sure it was devoid of any experiment notes, and handed the notebook over to Odella.

"I assume you can write?" She nodded, smiling a little at the question. "Anything you can remember, write it down in here. Even if they aren't complete thoughts, record them anyway. I rather hope you would let me look at it whenever I pleased, but for now, I will ask you anytime I wish to see what is inside. Deal?"

She nodded again, flipping through the lined pages. Skirting around Sherlock, she curled up on John's chair, and after picking out a pen from the mug on the table beside it and setting down her now empty cup, she scrawled her name across the front cover. She opened the notebook to the first page and wrote down:  _woman sweeping kitchen floor, green eyes like mine, woman saying goodnight, closed-coffin funeral. Woman was mother?_  Pursing her lips, she decided to put down what triggered the memories in the margins next to the list:  _The sound of MH humming._

Seeing that Odella had written all that she wanted to write, Sherlock held out his hand. "May I?"

Looking up from the page, she regarded his hand warily before handing it to him. As soon as the notebook was in Sherlock's large hand, she quickly withdrew, and snuggled into the corner of the chair.

Sherlock opened the notebook and read the slanted handwriting. "Your mother died?" He looked up and tried to catch Odella's eyes, only to find them closed. She wrinkled her eyebrows, trying to remember. Slowly, she nodded.

"Do you remember how?" Odella shook her head. "Was it an accident?" Here she paused before answering. She was going to shrug but a voice stopped her '... _if anyone asks, it was an accident. Mommy tripped and fell down the stairs_.'

Eyes unfocused, Odella reached for the notebook and scribbled down exactly what she had heard in her mind and put:  _man's voice, familiar_  before handing it back to Sherlock.

"And this was all before you came to London?" She nodded and rubbed at her eyes, heavy with the small revelation. Laying her head on the armrest, she tugged her knees to her chest, tired of talking.

Sherlock watched her play some unseen movie behind her eyes until the lids closed, sleep taking her away.


	4. Chapter 4

As soon as the cab stopped, John practically jumped out and rushed up the steps to the flat. Opening the door, he was greeted with Sherlock holding up a hand, signaling for him to stop.

"Sher-" The detective held a finger to his lips, silencing John. Stepping closer to Sherlock's chair slowly, he realized Odella was curled up in his chair, asleep.

John was confused at first that Sherlock hadn't wanted Odella woken up, but when he took a better look, he saw that Odella's eyes were flickering behind her lids. She was dreaming. And Sherlock was watching her, taking in every scowl, every twitch of her fingers, any movement at all. He didn't want John to interrupt his observations.

When Odella stopped moving and her face relaxed, Sherlock got up, leading John into the kitchen.

"She's already started remembering things. We discovered that her mother was killed when she was younger after Odella had an unexpected flashback when Mrs. Hudson was here. I had her right down what she remembered in a journal and hopefully, she'll be able to add more when she wakes up."

"How did she react to remembering that her mother died?"

"Hm? Oh, Mrs. Hudson said she 'shut down' afterwards but later, she didn't really react at all."

John shook his head. "That doesn't sound good, Sherlock. Any normal person would, I don't know, at least react to remembering their mother had been killed."

"She's not a 'normal person', John. Besides, it happened more than a decade ago."

"Just because something happened a long time ago doesn't mean it doesn't still hurt," John argued.

Frowning, Sherlock opened his mouth to respond when shriek came from the living room, followed by a  ** _thump_**.

Both men ran into the room, eyes settling on Odella, who was now on the floor, wide eyed and gasping for the breathe that had been knocked out of her.

As John approached to see if she was already, she scrambled back until she hit the chair. Stopping, John lowered himself down to the floor.

"I'm not going to hurt you. Are you alright?" He used his soothing doctor voice, coaxing her to relax.

She nodded, eyes still wide and wrapped her arms around her legs.

"Is it alright if I make sure?" John moved forward just a little, holding out a hand.

Looking towards Sherlock than back to the doctor in front of her, she unfolded her legs and nodded. She tensed when John's gentle hands touched her, pulse racing under the skin as he stretched out her limbs, watching her face to see if his actions caused any pain. No pain, just contained alarm at John's hands on her.

Satisfied that she wasn't hurt, John stood up and offered to help her off the floor. Putting her shaking hand in his callused one, she collapsed into his chair, snatching back her hand and staring out the window, she silently willed John to put some distance between them.

Stepping away, John looked to Sherlock. He had been watching the exchange from the doorway. Now, he sat in his own chair, those piercing eyes watching Odella.

"What was your dream about?" He watched her mouth tighten at his question.

"Sherlock, leave her alone." John had seen it, too.

"No. She might forget in the time it takes for her to lock it away with all the other bad things in her head." Sherlock leaned forward.

Finally turning away from the window, Odella met his gaze with one of her own, reaching for the journal and the pen, eyes never leaving Sherlock's until she opened the cover. She wrote something down and then tossed the book onto the floor in front of the detective, returning to staring out the window as he read her words.

_Dark, cold but skin feels like it's burning, can't move my hands, someone's hot breathe on my neck, can't see who it is._

Rubbing his thumb across his lip, Sherlock looked back at Odella, the extra moisture in her eyes catching the light. He waited for the tears to fall but she blinked a few times and her eyes were clear again.

He watched as her right hand unconsciously rubbed the scars covering her left arm, fingertips running over the raised flesh. If Sherlock was right, then those scars were caused by a knife.  _Knife wounds could be described as a burning sensation. She was having a nightmare about being tortured._

Placing the book on the coffee table, Sherlock spoke, "How long did it take to cover your whole body with that many scars?"

Odella picked at the fibers on the chair arm. She thought for a moment and then shrugged.

"More than a day?" She thought again. Shaking her head, shifted to sit cross-legged on the chair.

"More than an hour?" A nod.

"How long?" He nudged the notebook closer to Odella. Picking it up, she counted on her fingers multiple times, trying to remember. Finally, she wrote down a number, passing it back.

"Six? Six hours?" She nodded, fidgeting with her hands in her lap.

Seeing that Sherlock wasn't done with asking questions, John stepped in. "I'm going to make dinner. Are you hungry?" Odella nodded. "Sherlock?"

"Nothing for me. Are you really going to eat it this time?" He looked at Odella who avoided his gaze. John looked confused, waiting for Sherlock to explain.

"Under the couch cushion." John lifted up the cushion, surprised at finding scrambled eggs and a crumbled piece of bacon. Looking at Odella's blushing face and then back to the food, he started chuckling at the absurd hiding place.

Odella was clearly embarrassed but Sherlock saw her lips tilt up a little as John laughingly scraped the eggs and bacon into his hands.

 

~

Sherlock was examining brain matter under his microscope when he saw Odella get up from her bed on the couch. She paced, rubbing her hands over her face and through her hair. He heard her sigh before she sat back down, leaning her head in her hands.

"Can't sleep?" Sherlock asked from the kitchen table. "There's a book beside you. It might help." He just needed her to stop moving,. She was distracting him from his brains.

Odella picked up the book, something about invertebrates. He used it as a reference in the last case involving crustaceans and Sherlock expected her to set it back down, uninterested and intimidated by the text.

Instead, she got up and scanned the titles on the bookshelves before tugging out a dictionary and settling back down with both books on the couch. He watched her flip back and forth between the books, her right pointer finger skimming down the dictionary page until she found the word that was held under the finger on her left hand.

They stayed like that for hours: Sherlock adjusting the microscope, scribbling down notes and Odella flipping pages until the words stopped making making sense even after she had repeatedly reread the definitions, her brain too tired to absorb them.

Sherlock hadn't noticed she had fallen asleep until the sun began to rise. Looking towards the couch, he saw Odella's long hair cascading over the pages of the book she had rested in the arm of the couch, cheek pressed against the paper.

Getting up, he removed the books, setting them on the coffee table and laying Odella back on her pillow. He can't have get drooling all over his textbooks.

She sighed as she stretched out on the couch, unconsciously wrapping her hands around Sherlock's arm, pulling him close to snuggle to get chest.

Freezing at the unwanted contact, Sherlock waited until Odella relaxed back into the sofa before pulling his arm out of her grasp. Next time, he'll just leave her the way she was.

 

~

She woke up to her stomach cramping. Stumbling to the bathroom, she barely managed to drape herself around the toilet before she began retching. Stomach acid laced with what she had eaten last night and tea burned the back of her throat. Trying not to choke, she didn't notice hands twisting back her hair and rubbing a cold washcloth across the back of her neck.

Sitting back, she spit one more time into the toilet before flushing it. Odella leaned against the cool side of the bathtub, shaking and finally noticing John's hands on her. Looking up through watery eyes, she saw John's concern but pushed his hands away, cringing at his warm touch.

She tried to stand, but her limbs felt like they weren't her own, heavy and noncompliant. John caught her, scooping her up and placing her gently on the couch. She laid there, heading lolling against the pillow, her body aching and her skin erupting in goose bumps under the sheen of sweat.

John and Sherlock watched her twitch restlessly, unresponsive to their attempts of trying to get her to acknowledge their presence. She would flinch away from John's hands but more from the pain it ignited under her skin, whimpering at the prickling sensation.

"I think we should take her somewhere...to the hospital maybe." John hovered over Odella uselessly.

"Don't be ridiculous. They can't do anything other than give her a sedative. It won't be this bad the whole time. She'll have a few fits like this and then spend the rest of the time just lying there when she realizes it's not as painful when she doesn't move. As long as you keep her hydrated, she'll be fine." Sherlock had deleted his more extreme detoxes but he had kept the ones he was able to go through by himself.

Odella had stopped moving now, dark eyes opened wide, the pupils blown. Although they were open, they were unseeing, focusing on something in her mind. John stepped forward, worried but Sherlock held him back.

"She's resting, leave her be."

 

~

Odella floated through all the locked rooms in her head, only pulled out when she felt water being forced down her throat. She dreamed of the countless times her father had lost his temper, of how she wore long sleeves even in the summer like her mother had, and of the night she left her childhood home, relieved to escape from the hell she had known for twenty-three years.

She remembered finding her mother at the bottom of the stairs, not moving or breathing, the funeral she had sat through, staring accusingly at her father and the threat that if she ever tried to leave, she would end up in a pine box like her mother.

_She was running through the streets, blood covering her hands and tears in her eyes until she came to the creek that ran across her town. She couldn't help but think that the water had turned a pretty pink as she watched the blood stream off of her and swirl downstream._

_"Miss, are you alright?" She turned to see a man step out from under the trees. He was tall and was dressed in an expensive suit._

_She stared dumbly at the man, still standing knee deep in the moving water. She had never seen him before and his British accent confirmed that he wasn't from the surrounding area._

_"I...I think I killed him." She didn't realize she was saying something until the words were already hanging in the air._

_"Who?" The man spoke softly, not really concentrating on her confession but on the big, innocent eyes, full lips, and a figure worthy of a Greek goddess._

Looking back, Odella could see the way the man was watching her now. She hadn't seen it at the time, too lost in herself to realize that the man was just acting concerned, coaxing her into revealing a weakness he could use against her.

_"My father. I didn't mean to, I was just trying to stop him from hitting me again." She sobbed into her hands, trying to wash the image of the letter opener sticking out of her father's temple away. She had been aiming for his cheek, wanting to make him pause long enough for her to run out of the house and wait for the storm to pass but he had turned his head just as she stabbed forward. Horrified, she tried to make the bleeding stop, praying that he was still alive. He wasn't. So she ran._

_"What if I told you I could take you away from here? Would you come with me?" The man had listened to her story, one she hadn't realized she had said aloud. "What's your name?"_

_"Olivia." She looked uncertain, not trusting this stranger._

_"Well, Olivia. What if you could leave this all behind? You could have a new home, a new life, a new name if you wanted. I could help you."_  
 _She found herself nodding at everything this man was saying, already willing to go along._

_Smiling a little too widely, the man held out his hand to help her out of the water. "I'm Corbin."_

_She travelled to London with Corbin, a man she knew nothing about but who came to know everything about her. He had taken to calling her Opal, where he got the name, she didn't know._

_When he learned she liked to dance, he had asked her if she would like a job dancing in his club at nights. She was unsure, not comfortable with dancing in front of so many people but she felt like she owed Corbin, so she danced._

_She managed three nights full of grabby hands and multiple propositions before she refused to perform again. Corbin and his business partner, Adrian, tried to convince her to continue, and she grew tired of saying no._

_Realizing that she wasn't going to provide the entertainment willingly, she was given the choice to dance or be sent home and handed over to the police for the murder of her father. The threat worked for a few more nights until she didn't care where she was sent._

_Up until now, the warnings were purely verbal. Corbin and Adrian didn't want to lose the profit Opal was bringing in so they upped the ante. It took her six hours to give in, the smell of burnt skin and body fluids staying with her for weeks._

_~_

John sat by Odella's side, giving her water and wiping her tears away when they leaked down her cheeks those two days she stayed lost in her memories. Sometimes, he would wake up leaning against the couch to her screaming and scratching at her scars like they were new. He could only wrap her up and let her cry into his neck, curling up on his lap and clinging to his jumper for dear life. He knew what remembering was like.

 

~

A rumbling woke her up. Odella opened her eyes to find her face buried in wool that smelled like tea. She nuzzled it and closed her eyes only to hear the rumbling again.

Sitting up, she felt something shift under her and she yelped, elbow connected with one John Watson's chest.

"Oomph."  _Why was she in his lap_? She slid off, looking at John in panic.

Rubbing his chest, he opened his eyes to see Odella huddling against the armrest and watching him like she was expecting him to follow her.

"Alright?"

She shook her head, feeling like she had woken up to find she was in an old woman's body. Everything hurt and felt stiff.

"She's hungry, John." Sherlock looked up from a book he was skimming through.

In answer, her stomach growled in the same rumbling noise that woke her up. John got up and went into the kitchen leaving Odella and Sherlock alone.

He lowered the book and set it aside before boring into her with his eyes. "You've remembered." It wasn't a question.

She looked away, tears already gathering.

"Write it down." He motioned towards her notebook. He was tired of waiting for her to wake up and wanted her to write everything down. Right now.

She shook her head, looking at the journal like it was the Devil. She didn't want to write it down.

Getting out of his chair, Sherlock picked up the notebook and thrust it in Odella's lap. "Write."

Her hand shook but she opened the cover and managed to copy down her dreams and memories. As soon as she was done, she shoved it away and curled up with her back to Sherlock and cried.

 

~

_**Two Days Later** _

Sherlock stormed into the flat, his dark mood written across his face as he tossed his coat onto his chair. Pacing around the living room, he purposely kicked over a pile of books before stalking into the kitchen.

John was fiddling around, doing something abhorrently stupid most likely, and ignored Sherlock.  _That wouldn't do_.

Reaching into the refrigerator, Sherlock yanked out a jar of God-knows-what. Making sure John was watching, he dumped the contents onto the table before tossing the jar forcefully into the sink, the glass shattering against the steel.

"Sherlock, what the hell?" John tried to keep his voice calm, knowing it wouldn't help to get riled up when Sherlock was throwing a tantrum.

He was about to respond with some cutting remark, but something caught his attention: Odella, cowering in the doorway. Her eyes were red from crying and blown wide with fear as she watched Sherlock have his fit.

Sneering, the tall man felt irritation for the girl bloom in his chest. "Crying again, I see. Don't you ever stop?"

"Sherlock," John warned.

"Oh do shut up, John." Sherlock spared a quick silencing glance before turning back to Odella. "What's wrong now? Can't you get over yourself? God, you're boring me!" He slammed his fist down on the mystery-covered table, causing the woman to shrink back into the living room.

"Oh, no you don't. You ran from your problems last time. You showed up on  ** _my_**  doorstep, remember?" Sherlock strode after her, catching her arm just as she made for the door, trying to escape back to John's room.

"I'm tired of you sniffling all over my flat, throwing a damn pity party for yourself. So you were raped? Get over it." Sherlock spat the words out and waited for tears to well up in Odella's eyes.

"Sherlock!" John could barely control the urge to deck his flat mate for saying what he just did. Luckily, he didn't have to worry about punching Sherlock.

As soon as he had turned his eyes to John, he felt Odella's fist slam into his gut. Gasping, Sherlock looked up to see cold fury in those green eyes as he doubled over.  _Interesting. No tears._

John managed to grab Sherlock around the waist and drag him back, right as the heel of Odella's palm connected with the dark haired man's nose. Blood began gushing out, pouring down Sherlock's chin.

Odella, seeing that both Sherlock and John were distracted by the red substance that was spilling onto the rug, grabbed Sherlock's long coat and hurried out of the flat, needing to escape.

Even though he was bleeding, Sherlock managed to look both surprised and amused.  _She hit me, she really hit me_. Chuckling, he wiped his nose in his sleeve.

"Sherlock, I don't see how any of this is funny. She could have killed you, you know." John sounded angry.

Scoffing, Sherlock waved his hand, dismissing the thought. "Hardly. She didn't even break my nose."

"No, but only because I managed to pull you back in time. She was aiming to shove your nose into your brain. It would have killed you instantly." John shook his head in disbelief. "You would have deserved it, though."

"Oh, come now. I was in one of my moods. I can hardly be held responsible for what I say or do." _Hmm, was she really aiming to kill?_ _ **Very**_ _interesting._

Sighing in frustration, John ran up to his room, planning to check on Odella but finding it empty. "She's gone. She must have ran out."

Hearing the worry in John's voice Sherlock assured, "She'll be back. It's raining so she couldn't have have gone too far without getting soaked."

Walking to the bathroom, he began cleaning off his face now that his nose had stopped bleeding. Rubbing a cloth over his mouth, he discovered he had bitten his bottom lip, blood still pooling under the pink skin.

John came back into the flat and looked around. "Sherlock, where's your coat?"

"On my chair. Why?"

"No it's not."

"...She took my coat." Sherlock sounded more than amused. Odella was full of surprises tonight.

 

~

An hour later, Odella walked in, hair dripping.

Taking off Sherlock's now completely water-logged coat, she tossed the soaked wool into Sherlock's lap, and marched to the bathroom, slamming the door with a snap.

The shower started and the sound of water hitting porcelain filled the flat's silence.

"Well, it looks like you aren't the only one who has tantrums." John joked, relieved Odella came back.

"Hmmm." Sherlock plucked the wet coat off his lap, a small smile on his lips. "At least she stopped crying."

John looked towards the bathroom. She did seem...better when she walked in. More alive than the last few days.

The water shut off and Odella stepped out, wrapped in a towel. When she walked by Sherlock, she stopped and backtracked. Regret was evident on her face and she worried her lip between her teeth.

Reaching out hesitantly, she brushed her fingers across Sherlock's cheek before drawing back and slapping the place she had previously caressed.

Sherlock hissed with pain and surprise when the blow jostled his bruised nose. Looking back at Odella, he saw her smile in satisfaction.

She stepped back and continued towards John's room, humming softly. She had forgiven Sherlock.

John sat there for a moment, completely shocked at Sherlock and Odella's exchange. "What just happened?"

"It seems as if we have come to an understanding of sorts. All is forgiven." Sherlock was gazing at the door Odella had just walked out of in a bit of awe.

"Right. Good. Perhaps you should put some ice on that." John motioned to Sherlock's face, impressed by both Odella herself and the hand-shaped print she had left on Sherlock's pale cheek.

He picked up a pair of pajama bottoms from the basket of clean clothes he had just finished folding and changed in the bathroom before heading up to the room he now shared with Odella. After finding that having someone there when one of them woke up from a nightmare comforting, they soon realized that they both couldn't fit on the couch, so Odella now slept in John's room. She has slowly stopped shying away from physical contact, too. She was definitely making progress.

Knocking, he opened the door and found her combing out her hair, cross legged on the bed. For the first time in days, she smiled, looking relaxed.

Chuckling, John began putting away the clothes he had carried up. "Has anyone ever told you you're amazing?" Odella blushed and shook her head. "Well, you are."

Placing the comb onto the bedside table, Odella lifted up the covers, snuggling down under them on her side of the bed.

John turned off the lamp and laid down beside her. "Goodnight." He said fondly. She responded by brushing her bare foot across John's socked one and rolling over to face the wall.

 

~

Neither John nor Odella had nightmares that night, both sleeping soundly and waking up to the rays of sunlight that filtered through the window.

John rolled over to look at Odella, who opened one eye sleepily before burrowing back under the covers.

Smiling, he ruffled her bed head and sat up, stretching. "Hungry?"

She popped back out from the covers and made a face at the brightness. She thought for a moment, trying to process the question through the lingering hold of sleep and then nodded.

"Well then, let's get up." Folding back the covers, he stretched some more, joints popping and looked back at Odella.

She was sitting up now, scrubbing at her eyes with a scowl, her hair everywhere. She was definitely not a morning person but her grumpiness usually didn't last long.

Sliding out of bed, she followed John down to the kitchen. Pulling out a chair, she plunked down, still blinking blearily.

"Sherlock, are you eating?" John turned to his flat mate, who walked in, housecoat tied around his waist, in search of something.

Rummaging around the kitchen, he distractedly began lifting things up to look under them. "Hmmm? Oh, no."

Shrugging, John continued to make breakfast for Odella and himself.

"Ah ha." Sherlock shook open an old newspaper and sat down across from Odella. Scanning the headlines, he found the one that he wanted. "Lestrade called. He wants us to go look at a body that just washed up out of the Thames. He thinks it might be connected to the one that showed up a few days ago."

"What about Odella? We can't just drag her to a crime scene." John looked at the girl apologetically.

"It worked with you. Luckily, I've asked Molly to take her shopping or whatever it is women do together." He laid a credit card down in front of Odella. " I think you'll like Molly. Get anything you want. You're bound to be sick of wearing the same white t-shirts and sweats by now."

Getting up, Sherlock disappeared into his bedroom to change. Odella eyed the card, uncertain until John spoke up. "I think that's his way of making a peace offering. Maybe."

Nodding she got up to help John finish breakfast. Popping bread into the toaster, John looked curiously at Sherlock's closed bedroom door.

"You didn't happen to see his face, did you?"

Now that she thought about it, Odella realized that the whole time Sherlock had been talking, his face, or more accurately his nose, was hidden behind the newspaper. Frowning, she shook her head.

"Well, he won't be able to hide it for long."

It was only after the breakfast dishes were washed and placed on the drying rack, that Sherlock finally came out of his room.

Dressed in his usual dark suit, he appeared his normal self. Until he turned his head: On the left side of his nose was a light purple bruise that colored the cartilage and some of the surrounding cheekbone. It wouldn't have looked so dramatic if Sherlock wasn't so naturally pale.

Whistling, John bit back a smile.  _What would the Yard have to say about this?_

"Molly said she would meet us at the crime scene to pick up Odella." Shrugging on his coat, Sherlock walked out the door, flipping up his collar.

 

~

The ride to the crime scene was quiet, both Sherlock and Odella gazing out the windows, watching the city go by. Finally arriving, Sherlock paid the cabbie and got, waiting for the other two.

"You and Molly are around the same age. She works in the morgue at St. Bart's. I've only told her the basics about you, but I think she'll like you. John, wait with Odella here until Molly arrives." Striding off, Sherlock bee-lined straight for Lestrade. Unfortunately, the DI was currently flanked by Donovan and Anderson. Looking up at the approaching Sherlock, Lestrade's mouth opened with surprise.

"You sure pissed someone off." Anderson sounded too smug for Sherlock's liking.

Giving him a glare, a nodded over to Odella who was listening to whatever John was saying.

"What did you say to Dr. Watson that riled him up so bad?" Lestrade still couldn't keep his eyes off of the bruise.

"It wasn't John. It was the girl." He indicated to Odella again. She was alone now, John walking over to the group.

"Picking them a little young, aren't we, Dr. Watson? Is she even old enough to get into a bar?" Donovan looked a little disgusted.

"Oh, no. She's not my..."

"She's a client. And yes, she  _ **is**_ old enough to get into a bar." Sherlock sneered back.

Afraid he was going to have to break up yet another tiff between the four, Lestrade breathed a sigh of relief when an arriving taxi distracted everyone for a moment.

Stepping out, Molly waved at the group before walking over to Odella. "Hi. I'm Molly. You must be Odella."

Nodding, Odella shook Molly's hand, both women blushing shyly.

"Well, are you ready to go?" Odella nodded again and waved at John and Sherlock before following Molly into the cab.

Odella liked her immediately. Molly chattered the whole way, about anything and everything. She made sure to keep the topics pleasant, remembering Sherlock's warning to be careful of what she said. Odella listened intently, genuinely interested in what Molly had to say, nodding or shaking her head when appropriate.

They stopped at a beauty salon first, Molly following Sherlock's order to change up Odella's look a little. After pointing out a few hairstyles and seeing Odella's uncertainty, Molly picked one out for her.

An hour later, Odella walked out with layers that made her hair curl up even more, and short bangs that framed her face lightly.

"Ooh. I like it." Molly ran her fingers through Odella's hair, marveling at the softness of it.

Grabbing her hand, Molly walked across the street and they started to make their way through the clothing stores lined up down the street.

While pushing the hesitant Odella through the racks of clothing, she began loading their arms down with things she thought Odella might like.

After trying things on, Odella kept a few pairs of jeans, some v-neck t-shirts, and two jackets. She also picked out some undergarments and pajamas, at Molly's insistence.

Odella shied away from anything that shimmered or sparkles, not wanting to be reminded of other pieces of clothing that were made to catch the light. Instead, she stuck with the basics, only buying the simpler things.

While trying on shoes two hours later, Odella noticed Molly kept staring longingly at a particular scarf that was hanging on the wall.

Picking out a pair of converse and two pairs of boots, she had an idea. On the way to the checkout, Odella grabbed the scarf and, making sure Molly wasn't looking, put it in with the rest of her things.

Bags in hand, Molly hailed a cab and with both girls giggling at the light rain that had started, crawled in.

"That was fun. Even though you don't talk much." Molly smiled and nudged Odella teasingly.

The whole ride back to Baker Street was filled with videos of Molly's cats getting into all kinds of mischief, both women laughing at the expense of Mr. Tubsy and Mrs. Whiskers.

When the taxi stopped, Odella grabbed her bags and leaning over to place a kiss on Molly's cheek, she slipped her hand into Molly's jacket pocket.

Watching Odella run up to the door, Molly touched her cheek. Reaching into her pocket, she pulled out a scarf.  _How did Odella know?_  Smiling, she texted Sherlock.

_Everything went great! I think you should keep her. :D_

Sherlock fished his phone out of his pocket when he heart it beep. Reading Molly's text, he smirked. _Yet another person enraptured with Odella_. Showing the text to John, he rubbed his fingers across his nose, his smile widening.

"Of course Molly would like her; Molly likes everyone," John replied, chuckling. "Then again, it seems like everyone likes Odella, even you." He gave Sherlock a knowing look.

"She's tolerable." John laughed at that and turned to look out the taxi window, thinking.  _I like her, too_.

 

~

The next morning, Lestrade phoned with another body.

"Where are you? You sound like you're in an airport." Sherlock could hear a woman's voice come over a loudspeaker as Lestrade was talking to him.

"That's because I am. I'm picking up someone." He didn't sound too pleased that he had to tell Sherlock this.

"Hmmm. A new girlfriend?" Sherlock said, already knowing the answer.  
"Eh hum, something like that."

"Wait. So who's running the crime scene?"

Sighing, Lestrade knew he should have called John. "Donovan and Anderson." He could practically hear Sherlock scowl. "Just do the web cam thing again. It worked last time."

"Fine," Sherlock snapped, hanging up. "John, get the laptop and get dressed. You're going to a crime scene."

Settling down at the desk, Sherlock wrapped his blue dressing gown around him, waiting for the video stream to connect. He could hear Odella in the kitchen, making tea.

She walked in, his maroon dressing gown tied around her waist, hair still wet from a shower. Surprised that she wasn't dressed, Sherlock remembered John had been slacking on the laundry, almost every item of clothing in 221B unwashed. She set down a mug beside him and then moved to John's chair, picking up a book from the floor.

Turning back to the computer, John's face appeared on the screen. Along with Anderson's.

"Anderson thinks-"

"Anderson is an imbecile." Sherlock really didn't want to waste time learning what Anderson's moronic and completely  ** _wrong_**  theory was.

He expected the man to snap back at him, but instead, he was too busy ogling something behind Sherlock. Looking up at the small window at the top of the screen that reflected what John and Anderson saw, Sherlock could see a long, tan leg crossed over the other, a maroon dressing gown parted enough to allow half of a toned thigh to be exposed.

Luckily, Odella's face was out of the shot but unfortunately, her chest wasn't. Like her legs, the opening of the robe was v-ed low, just enough to show a good inch of ample cleavage.

"Anderson. Keep your eyeballs in your skull or I'll use them in my next experiment." Sherlock turned the laptop away from Odella, who was already too absorbed in her book to notice.

 

~

Around noon, there was a knock at the door. Odella looked up from the book she had been holed up in since morning, panicked at the thought of a stranger at the door.

Striding in, Mycroft Holmes offered a tight smile to his younger brother. "Here you are." He held out stack of papers. "Now, I believe we are even."

Chuckling, Sherlock glanced at the papers. "We will never be even, brother dear. You should know that by now."

"Quite. This is she?" Mycroft turned to Odella, who was watching the man with guarded eyes.

"Odella, this is Mycroft. Mycroft this is Odella..." Sherlock looked down at the papers, "Wilde. Born September 30, 1988 to a Cathy and Michael Wilde." He held up a newly drawn up birth certificate and other identification papers claiming Odella was a legal citizen of Great Britain.

"Are you so bored of Dr. Watson that you had to take on another pet? And from the street, no less." The elder Holmes stepped closer, sniffing haughtily at Odella's state of undress, still only clothed in Sherlock's robe. Her eyes sparked a darker shade, mirroring Mycroft's distaste.

Reaching forward, he caught Odella's chin, turning her head from side to side, getting a good look at her. "Where did you find her? Strung out behind some club?" It was obvious Mycroft didn't think highly of Odella, placing his level of distaste for her just below the general public.

She made a threatening sound in the back of her throat, low enough for only Mycroft to hear and tried to pull away. Mycroft smirked, tightening his hold, intent on displaying he had the upper hand. Odella's top lift curved into a snarl and refused to look away, stubbornly defying the man with her eyes.

"Oh, I see why he likes you; he always has liked a challenge." Sherlock saw Odella's hand fist around her book. Keeping her history of violence in mind, he stepped in before Mycroft ended up with a book shaped imprint on his cheek.

"Mycroft. That's enough." His voice was deeper with an implied threat. "I'm sure Odella would appreciate it if you removed your pudgy, little fingers."

Retracting his hand, Mycroft made a show of wiping his hand on his handkerchief and looked amused at Sherlock's tone. "You always were possessive with your toys." He glanced at Odella down his nose. "Even the broken ones."

He sat down across from her, pleased that the reference made the woman's silent rage bubble even more. "Would you be so kind as to bring me a cup of tea? Black."

If looks could kill, Mycroft would be have been a cooling corpse by now. She rose, back rigid and went into the kitchen, banging around the kettle and cups, making sure to create as much noise as possible.

"Have you made any progress with the underground drug ring, yet?" Sherlock narrowed his eyes at the question.

"Why are you interested?" Suspicion clear in his voice.

"The last two bodies happened to be colleagues of mine. Neither of them had drug problems, I would have caught on. The sooner you wrap this up, the sooner I can smooth their deaths over."

Sherlock steepled his fingers and watched his brother. "Hmm."

"Maybe your little street urchin knows something." Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. "Leave her out of this. She knows nothing. Besides, I'm working on another case at the moment."

Odella walked in with a cup of tea, thrusting it at Mycroft, purposely sloshing the liquid a little before curling back into her chair, picking up her book and burying her face in the pages.

Mycroft lifted the cup to his lips, froze and paled. Recovering quickly, he placed the cup on the coffee table and got up.

"Well...I should be off." Sherlock watched with curiosity as Mycroft adjusted his jacket and hurried out of the flat.

"Odella?" She lowered her book, her eyes wide and innocent. She cocked her head, feigning ignorance.

Standing up, he walked over to the coffee table and peered down into Mycroft's cup. Instead of tea, it held a dark red liquid and a pale severed finger bobbing above the surface. Dipping his finger in, Sherlock swirled it around before withdrawing it, bringing a rope of the coagulating blood with it.

Looking back at Odella, he saw the twinkle in her eyes as she practically pranced into the kitchen smugly. He felt his mouth stretch into a grin.

"Are we out of tea, then?" Chuckling, he took a picture of the cup and sent it to John.

_My God, Sherlock. What are you doing with that?_

_We had a visit from Mycroft. -SH_

_That isn't his finger is it?_

_Unfortunately, no. After insulting Odella and then asking for a cup of tea, she took it upon herself to retaliate. -SH_

_She didn't._

_Oh, but she did. You should have seen him. He left in quite a hurry. -SH_

_God bless her._

_Indeed. -SH_


	5. Chapter 5

John woke up to Odella tossing the covers off of her then turning around and tugging them back up, shivering. After the third time this happened, he rolled over and turned on the bedside lamp.

Odella wrinkled her face at the light, her cheeks flushed even though she had goose bumps covering her arms. Placing his hand against her face, John could feel the heat of a fever under the skin.

"You're running a fever. What hurts?" Sleep forgotten, John was in concerned doctor mode.

She motioned to her head and then clutched her throat, massaging the swollen lymph nodes under her jaw. John frowned, not coming into any immediate conclusions at what was ailing her.

Getting up, he left her sprawled across the bed, returning with a glass of water and two tablets of paracetamol.

"I'll take you to work with me, so I can properly diagnose you, alright?" She nodded and flopped back against the bed, kicking her pajama bottoms off in an effort to keep cool.

John looked away, those tan legs threatening to make his mind wander. "Do you need anything else?"

Odella shook her head and rolled over to face the wall, leaving John with a nice view of her underwear-clad behind.

_Right. Just ignore it and it will be fine. All fine._

_~_

Pushing away John's concern, Odella trudged to the bathroom, hoping the steam would help clear her head.

John began getting ready for work, stopping when Sherlock came out of his room, scribbling something down in one of his notebooks.

"I'm taking Odella with me today. She woke up last night running a fever and I want to make sure it isn't something serious."

Sherlock looked up, watching John for a moment before returning to his writings. "It makes sense; I doubt she's ever had a flu shot in her life, much less been exposed to the odd cold in a long time."

Nodding, John sat down to finish his tea and wait for Odella.

 

~

Leading Odella into his office, he set about examining her before any other patients arrived. He took blood, a urine sample, and swabbed her throat to test for strep and mono. On a whim, he tested the blood and urine for any sexually transmitted diseases while he was at it.

When all of the results came back negative an hour later, Odella was sleeping off what John had found to be a sinus infection. After writing a prescription for antibiotics, he rang Sherlock.

"Could you come pick up Odella?"

"Is there a reason you can't just send her in a cab and save me a trip?"

"She's sick! Besides, you'll need to pick up her medicine. She just has a mild sinus infection."

"What about the other tests?"  _Really, how did he know?_

"Everything came back negative. She's clean."

"Fine. I'll be there in twenty minutes."

Hanging up, John looked over at Odella still sleeping and decided to wait until Sherlock was here to wake her.

 

~

Once home, she curled up on the couch, not even bothering to take off her jacket.

"John said you're supposed to take your medicine now." Sherlock waved the prescription bag, making the bottle inside rattle.

Odella harrumphed and gave Sherlock a dirty look before closing her eyes again, choosing to ignore what John said.

Amused, Sherlock read the direction. TAKE ONE (1) PILL WITH FOOD TWICE (2) A DAY.

"You're supposed to take it with food. I suppose I could...make you something?"

Opening up her eyes, she gave him a dubious look. Sherlock agreed with her.

"Yes, you're right. I'll have Mrs. Hudson make you something."

 

~

After spending three days with both Mrs. Hudson and John playing the over bearing nurses, Odella was relieved when she woke up fever and pain free. She walked into the flat to find Sherlock sitting in the middle of the floor with papers scattered around him.

"So all three men had pregnant wives. What else connects them?" John was sitting in his chair, smiling when he saw Odella.

Pouring cereal into a bowl, she could here Sherlock shuffle through his papers before making a satisfied sound.

"They were all either cheating or on the verge of cheating."

"Why would anyone want to cheat on their pregnant wife?" John asked, disapproving.

"Why would anyone get married?" Sherlock asked back, making Odella smile into her cereal.

Walking back into the living room, she leaned on the door frame, listening fondly to John trying to explain to Sherlock about being in love and wanting to make that love official and binding.

"Sounds extremely boring," Sherlock stated after John was done.

Laughing, Odella placed her bowl in the sink and stepped around Sherlock's papers on the living room floor, reaching the bathroom to take a shower.

Even after the water was raining down on her, she could hear the two men's voices outside and Sherlock's phone going off. While the detective answered, Odella was thinking about what John said.

Would she ever want to get married? Did she even want to fall in love? She really wasn't sure about either. She knew that she was fond of both John and Sherlock, as they were of her, but what about other people? She didn't trust any other men enough to want to try and get to know them.

Sighing, she got out and focused on drying off. She'd think about this later.

Walking up the stairs to her room, she met John coming down.

"There's been another body. Will you be fine here, alone?"

"She can come with us. If she gets dressed that is." Sherlock poked his head out of the flat, obviously in a good mood.

John looked opposed to the idea of her coming along, but he was more focused on the towel that was wrapped around Odella to argue. Watching her move farther up the stairs, he couldn't help but watch the cloth brush against the woman's thighs at each step.

Sherlock cleared his throat and gave John a knowing look. Blushing, the smaller man walked down the rest of the way purposely focusing on everything except those damned legs.

 

~

"Sherlock, you can't just bring anyone you like to a crime scene," Lestrade said exasperated when he saw Odella trailing behind John and the detective.

"She's not 'anyone', she's Odella. And she won't touch anything." He led them into the study of the house containing the dead body.

John watched Odella for a moment, unsure of how she would react to seeing a dead human, but she just looked around curiously, completely unaffected of the corpse in front of her.

"John." Sherlock called for his doctor while leaning over the body. Moving forward, he focused on his examination.

"He wasn't alone. There was another person in here with him."

"Of course there was. The murderer." Donovan looked up from her paper work, scowling.

"No, before he was murdered." Sherlock ignored her and was glancing around the body when he noticed a path in the carpet where the fibers were slightly flattened in the direction of the window. Looking back to see that everyone was watching, he saw Odella's eyes weren't on him, but instead on the almost invisible trail, gaze finally resting on the window. She noticed it, too. And he hadn't even said anything yet.  _Oh, she_ _ **is**_ _clever._

"Odella. Come here." Crooking his finger, he gestured her to him.

Stepping carefully around the crime scene, she continued to take in everything around her until she was standing in front of Sherlock.

"What do you see?" She looked back at the others before looking up at Sherlock, unsure. "Go on. I know you can see it."

Nodding, she began walking from the body to the window, measuring her strides with the flattened fibers. Frowning, she returned to Sherlock, grabbed his hand and walked him along the other side of the trail. He followed her lead, knowing exactly what she was doing.

"What's all this?" Lestrade asked, his face mirroring the other three people's faces around him.  
"She's comparing footsteps."

Odella let go of Sherlock and got on her hands and knees. Studying the marks both she and Sherlock had made, she cocked her head, measuring the footsteps.

"Female?" Sherlock was watching her like no one else was in the room with them.

Shaking her head, she pointed to her footsteps and the smaller space in between them than the originals.

"So male. He was cheating on his wife with another man."

"How do you know it wasn't the murderer?" Anderson's voice broke through the intimate exchange between Odella and Sherlock.

Standing up, Odella grabbed Sherlock again and led him to the window. Raising his hands, she placed them on the glass and pushed up. The window didn't budge.

Turning back to Lestrade, John, Sally and Anderson, he smiled proudly. "The window is locked from the inside. It would have been impossible for the killer to lock it from the other side and even more impossible for this man to lock it after he was killed." Snapping off his gloves, he tossed them into a bio-hazard bag he realized that the others were staring at Odella, still confused.

"Is she...like you?" Lestrade took in her jeans, boots and v-neck sweat shirt. She didn't seem to be abnormal. In fact, if Lestrade had seen her on the street, he would have checked her out, maybe even tried to talk to her.

"Not exactly. She just notices more than the average idiot." Sherlock looked fondly at Odella, something that was not missed by the others.

She smiled softly and walked back to John, Sherlock behind her with his hand leading her by the small of her back, unconsciously. As they left, she grabbed John's hand, and leaned into Sherlock's, ready to go home and take a nap.

Lestrade shared a look with Donovan and Anderson, all three catching the displays of affection.

 

~

Odella woke up on the couch to Sherlock ripping open a cardboard box. Digging through the packaging peanuts, he pulled out a lump of padded fabric.

"Sherlock, what is that?" John walked in from the kitchen.

"It's the key to capturing our murderer." He shook off the clinging peanuts and stood up. Unfolding it, he un-velcroed the straps and wrapped it around his waist.

Bursting into giggles, John took in the site of Sherlock with a fake pregnant belly. "I must say, this is your best disguise yet."

Sherlock frowned, "It's not for me, it's for Odella."

John stopped laughing. "What? We can't involve her in this. There is no way she is going to play bait."

"She's not going to be the bait. You are. The murderer isn't after the pregnant wife, he's after the cheating husband. That's you."

"This is absurd, Sherlock."

"Well, I doubt the murderer would believe if the pregnant wife was either you or me. Besides, Odella is fine with it, aren't you."

Odella shrugged and stood up. Walking over to Sherlock, she poked the rounded cloth, amused that Sherlock was still wearing it.

"What are you going to do then? Just let me hit on some random girl and then get killed?"

"Of course not. I'm going to try and seduce you into cheating. As proven with the last victim, the murderer doesn't just go after men who cheat with woman."

"No. Absolutely not. I am not gay."

"I didn't say you were. You just have to pretend to be."

John rubbed his forehead. "Fine. Whatever."

"Excellent. I've been looking over the notes and discovered that all of the victims and their wives were seen shopping at Tesco just hours before the husbands were killed. Either the murderer is a daily shopper or an employee. Let's hope that he's there when you two arrive in the next thirty minutes."

Sitting down with a sigh, John asked, "So where do you come in?"

"I'm going to already be there. Find an excuse to walk over to where I am so I can shamelessly flirt with you and you with me. After dropping a few not-so-subtle hints, you give me a meeting place and then hopefully, the murderer will follow me to you. Of course, I'll be aware if someone is tailing me and by the time I reach our meeting place, Lestrade will have been alerted and on stand-by. It's simple, really."

"Dangerous, more like it." John watched as Sherlock fitted the stomach onto Odella, adjusting it to make it believable. Stepping back, they all took a good look at a very convincing, pregnant Odella.

Reaching into the box again, Sherlock pulled out a small jewelry case. Opening it, he plucked out the smaller ring and slipped it onto Odella's wedding finger. Walking over to John, he did the same.

"There. Now it looks like you're a married couple instead of two people who didn't use protection." Sherlock busied himself with putting on his coat, leaving John to blush fiercely at the thought of...with Odella.

She on the other hand, had her arm stretched out, admiring the ring. She was obviously in deep thought because she had the tip of her tongue held between her teeth, the pink muscle poking out through her lips. John melted at the sight of how adorable she looked, so concentrated, round belly, and eyes wide and innocent.

"Right. Let's go shopping, honey." John smiled teasingly and held out his arm.

 

~

Grabbing a cart, John decided that this would be a good time to get the things they needed while they were here. It was uncomfortable at first, having people stop to smile at them, eyes lingering on Odella's stomach, but it didn't seem to affect Odella at all. She smiled back and would brush against John, playing the part of the young, adoring wife perfectly.

Following her lead, John became more at ease, occasionally guiding her with his hand on her lower back and letting his fingers linger on hers when he handed her something to place in the cart.

It was all going fine, both of them falling into their roles easily after that, painting the image of an ideal marriage to the people around them. Until John spotted Sherlock.

Freezing, he remembered what he was supposed to do. Looking at Odella, watching her frown as she read the back of some box, her hand placed unintentionally on her stomach, he suddenly felt dirty. He knew that this was all pretend, but it was still something he couldn't imagine doing. Especially, to Odella. It was stupid, he knew it was, but his stomach clenched anyway.

Sherlock cleared his throat and walked towards the produce, eyes flicking to John as if he could tell he was hesitating. Taking a deep breathe, John reminded himself that if he didn't do this, someone's real wife would lose her husband and her child's father. Even if he was a cheating bastard.

Coming to stand beside Sherlock, he picked up a few apples and inspected them. He assumed Sherlock would be the one to initiate their exchange and he was right:

The taller man leaned forward, brushing his arm against John's. Looking up at Sherlock, he recognized the coy smile as flirtatious even if he had never seen it on Sherlock.

"Terribly sorry." His deep voice was pitched lower than usual, a seductive drawl that clearly was not sorry at all. John left his arm pressed against Sherlock's for a moment before pulling away, glancing back at Odella to make sure she hadn't seen anything.

"Your wife?" The detective made a show of checking her out before returning his gaze to John. "She certainly is pretty. She's lucky to have roped you in." He leaned forward conspiratorially as he spoke.

"I don't think she would see it that way, at the moment. We've done nothing but squabble for the last month, it seems like." John was glad Sherlock had told him what he was supposed to say, otherwise, he would have been standing there like an idiot.

"Really? That's too bad. Although, I have heard women be unreasonable at times, especially when pregnant. Another reason I prefer men." Sherlock smirked and turned back to the produce, aware of John's eyes on him. "Ever tried it?" He asked, leaning a little to pick up a tomato.

"Tried what?" John glanced between Odella and Sherlock, keeping his eyes on both of them.

"Men." He answered simply.

Clearing his throat, John didn't have to lie about his answer. "No."

"Would you like to?" Sherlock placed his hand on John's and lowered his eyelids.

"I'm married," John stammered.

Sherlock only shrugged. "I'm not looking for anything serious. A one time thing. If you're not interested, I understand. You just seemed a little...sexually frustrated and I thought I could help." He moved away and began walking in the opposite direction of Odella.

"Wait." He turned around at John's command and smirked.

"Yes?"

"I'm free around four. Meet me at Speedy's on Baker Street?" John glanced at Odella nervously.

Sherlock stepped closer, he slid his fingers into John's back pocket. "My number. See you there," he whispered.

Watching his flat mate walk away, John breathed a sigh of relief that this part was over. Returning to Odella, he dropped a bag of apples into the cart and finished shopping.

 

~

Sherlock glanced at his watch as he walked down the street. He had been aware of someone following him since he had left Tesco and had already texted Lestrade to stake out at Speedy's.

Turning down Baker Street, he walked past an plain-clothed officer and murmured, "The short one in the black hoodie and baseball cap," before walking into the cafe. He sat down and waited for John.

Just as John made to turn the corner onto Baker Street, he was grabbed from behind and pulled into an alleyway.

Military instincts kicking in, he easily took down his attacker and had them pinned to the ground when a man came running off the street. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs and flashed his badge before slapping on the handcuffs and lifting the suspect onto their feet. The baseball cap tumbled off and a wave of electric blond hair settled around the woman's shoulders.

"Elizabeth Montgomery. Married once, now a widow after she discovered her husband's infidelity. When killing her own husband wasn't enough, she became obsessed with ridding London of cheatinghusbands. Her job at Tesco helped her spot her victims. You should find a syringe of poison in her hoodie pocket that she had planned to use on John, and her home should contain other traces of her guilt." Sherlock appeared, leaning against the brick wall of the alleyway casually, if not a little disappointedly that this case was as simple as it turned out to be.

Watching the officer place Elizabeth in the waiting patrol car, John felt the adrenaline leave him, only to be replaced with an empty stomach and the urge to sit down.

"Why don't you go get Odella, I feel like Chinese," Sherlock said before walking over to the officer.

Rounding the corner, he opened the door of 221 and walked up the stairs. "Odella?" He poked his head into the flat, not seeing the woman. Returning to the ground floor, he knocked on Mrs. Hudson's door.

"Come in." Pushing open the door, John saw the landlady sitting on the couch next to Odella, knitting needles in both women's hands. "I'm teaching Odella how to knit."

Looking up, Odella scowled good-naturedly at the yarn tangled in her hands.

"Don't worry, dear. You'll get the hang of it." Mrs. Hudson patted her thigh, laughing a little.

Smiling, John's stomach reminded him why he was here. "Odella, are you hungry? Sherlock wants to go get Chinese. You can stay here if you like."

Untangling herself from the strands of yarn, Odella stood and pecked a kiss on the landlady's cheek before joining John at the door, suddenly hungry at the mention of food. Taking John's hand, they stepped out of the building into the darkening evening.

Looking up, Odella sighed at the light breeze that blew through the street and gazed at the changing sky, appreciating the way the blue of the day was melting into purple.

"Ready?" Sherlock asked, finally done with talking to the officer.

 

~

The flat was dark and quiet when John crept to the bathroom. Turning on the shower, he stripped and stepped into the cold stream. The cool water hit his overheated body, rapidly washing away his sweat.

Closing his eyes, John groaned. How many cold shower was he going to have to take? For the last few nights, his nightmares were replaced with something almost equally terrifying. Odella. In certain situations. Ones he shouldn't be dreaming about. At all.

It was bad enough that he somehow ended up with her wrapped around him when she slept, but now, with London experiencing a small warm front, Odella would kick off her pajama bottoms in her sleep, entwining long, tan, and extremely bare legs through his own.

Reaching behind him, John picked up the first bottle his hand come into contact with, popping open the lid. The smell of lavender filled the shower, making him unconsciously inhale, thinking of the woman lying in his bed. Without her pants on.

_Bloody Hell._

Snapping the bottle closed, he made sure to grab his own and tried to slow his pulse. It wouldn't do to get all worked up again. Why did she have to be so...Odella.

Groaning in frustration, John shivered under the cold water.

 

~

Odella woke up alone. She didn't move for awhile, staring at the sunlight shining on the floor, trying to think through the sleep still lingering.

Lifting herself up onto her arm, she looked around, frowning. Why wasn't she wearing any pants? Seeing the article of clothing bunched at the the foot of the bed, she vaguely remembered pushing them off her hips sometime in the night.

Redressing, she flopped back against the mattress, staring at the ceiling, not yet fully awake. Sighing, she heard movement downstairs and finally got up.

 

~

"Shower schedule off?" Sherlock looked at John, his mouth quirked up on one side.

Blushing a little, John glared back. "Shut up, Sherlock."

"What's wrong? It's a perfectly natural response. Especially for you." Sherlock's half smile twitched wider.

"What do you mean, especially for me? What are you saying? That all I think about is sex?" John did not want to deal with Sherlock and his deductions at the moment. "You try waking up with her practically on top of you, all warm and...And then tell me you wouldn't need a cold shower, too. I'll bet even you would react the same way."

"I doubt it. I don't find physical interaction appealing." Sherlock grimaced before picking up the morning newspaper.

"How would you know? You haven't even tried it."

"As I said. Not appealing. Not even the thought. Good morning, Odella." Ruffling his paper, he greeted the woman shuffling in.

Grunting in response, she disappeared into the bathroom. The shower was turned on and Sherlock smiled at John's discomfort at having the topic of their conversation suddenly appearing, the possibility of her overhearing them making him squirm.

"Calm down. She didn't hear anything. She wasn't even awake enough to properly respond."

"You had better be right." Scowling, John wished he was better at hiding what he was thinking.

 

~

"I'm bored," Sherlock drawled. It was later in the evening and nothing exciting had happened. No new experiments, no new cases, not even a idiotic murder that could distract him for five minutes.

Flopping down on the couch, Sherlock wrapped his dressing gown around his legs and glanced over at Odella reading next to him.

"I'm bored," he repeated. No one moved. Odella didn't look up from her book and John didn't even glance away from whatever mundane thing he was doing.

Huffing, the dark haired man leaned in closer to the woman, trying to get her to pay attention to him. Getting no response, he yanked the book from her hands, expecting  _something_. She didn't even look at him. Instead, she reached down by the couch and picked up another book, opening it to a book marked page.

Sherlock allowed her to get a few paragraphs in before yanking that one away too. Freezing for a few seconds, she reached down again, picking up yet another book.

Getting frustrated that he wasn't producing any reaction, Sherlock tossed the books onto the end table next to his right elbow and scowled. Hearing John give a breathy laugh, he narrowed his eyes at the smaller man, now aware that he had an audience.

Plucking the newest book out of Odella's hands roughly, he added possessively, "Must you read  _all_  of  _my_  books?"

Her lips twitched, threatening to break into a smile as Sherlock added the book to the pile on the table. Uncrossing her legs, she leaned closer to the detective slowly. On hands and knees, she reached across his lap, swaying her back, her shirt hitching up to expose a strip of honey skin above her yoga pants. Placing one hand on his upper thigh to balance herself, she picked up the last book Sherlock had thrown onto the table before sitting back on her legs. Holding up the book, Sherlock could now see that instead of being one of his books, it was her journal, with  _ODELLA_  printed across the cover.

"Oh," the dark haired man was trying to process what had just happened, the feeling of Odella's small hand still on his thigh and the smell of lavender distracting him. Looking to his flat mate, it seemed he was in shock himself:

John was staring at Odella, breathing irregularly after seeing the woman obliviously stretch herself cat-like across the Sherlock, unaware of how incredibly sexy the action was.

Looking confusedly at both men, Odella met their gazes and bit her lip, trying to figure out what she had done to cause both of them to freeze so suddenly, both sets of eyes currently on her mouth, watching her suck one side of her lip between her teeth.

Clearing his throat, John shifted in his chair before finally tearing his gaze away.

"I'm going to put the kettle on." Standing up quickly, he scurried into the kitchen.

Sherlock seemed to snap out of whatever he was thinking and he too stood up, wrapping his dressing gown around himself and bee-lined towards his room, muttering under his breathe.

Odella sat there, unmoving on the couch, frowning at Sherlock and John's odd behavior. _Had she done something wrong_?

 

~

Hours later, Odella couldn't sleep. It was dreadfully hot in the bedroom and John was snoring. Lifting her head to look at the clock, she sighed, calculating that she had been lying wide awake for four hours.

Turning her head, she watched John sleep, his mouth parted to draw in a breath only to push it out again. She thought about how he had crawled into bed, offered an uncomfortable good night and fidgeted on his side of the mattress before falling asleep curled up as far away from her as he could without ending up in the floor.

She was scared to try to scoot closer to him, into her usual sleeping position for fear she would shove him off the bed and the fact that it was too blasted hot to be snuggling.

Odella lied there, pressed up against the cool wall and studied the army doctor in the dark. He was lying on his back, one arm behind his head, the other thrown across his stomach. Wearing a light t-shirt and a pair of boxer shorts, he had the bed sheet pulled up to his knees to keep his feet from getting cold since it was too hot to wear socks.

Propping herself up with her arm, Odella leaned closer just a bit, watching his face. She could see his eyes move from under the lids. He was dreaming judging by the way his mouth would twitch. It wasn't a nightmare, he would be thrashing by now, but he was breathing heavily like it was a bad dream.

She waited a few minutes just in case he needed to be woken up, but when his breathing returned to normal, she drew back a hand she hadn't realized was hovering over John, her worry subsiding.

Lying back down, she closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. Staying like that for what seemed like forever, Odella sighed in frustration and looked at the clock again. Only five minutes had passed.

Resisting the urge to throw herself back against the mattress, she heard Sherlock moving around in the flat, followed by the sound of his violin being played softly.

Slowly crawling out of bed as to not wake John, Odella creeped down the stairs and walked into the flat. Standing in front of the window, looking out into the dark street, Sherlock had his violin under his chin, drawing his bow across the strings lightly with his maroon dressing gown flowing around his pajama bottoms. He didn't seem to realize she had come in, giving no indication that he knew he wasn't alone anymore.

Curling up on the couch, she watched as he continued to fill the flat with music, fingers gracefully trail across the fingerboard. Occasionally, he would stop and write something down on the music sheets on the desk next to him, humming as he pulled notes from his mind. Then, he would return to playing, sometimes swaying or arching his back slightly, the music seeming to consume him until he completed the notes he had previously written down.

Odella watched him, finally relaxing back into the cushions and swaying herself, her muscles tingling with the urge to move along. She resisted and stayed sitting, not wanting to alert Sherlock of her presence and just listened, not sure of how much time passed when he stopped playing again, bending over the paper.

He thought for a moment, tested out the notes, scribbled them down only to cross them out after repeating them on the violin. He did this several times, growing more frustrated after crossing out line after line. Taking a deep breathe, he straightened up and began the piece from the beginning.

Odella quietly hummed with him, closing her eyes and seeing the notes behind her lids. She unconsciously stretched her legs out across the couch, toes pointed as if she was balancing on them. She heard Sherlock approach the last notes he had written down and then stop abruptly, still not being able to come up with the next section. Odella continued, though, not even meaning to, her arms stretching lazily behind her head an the armrest, fingers brushing against her hair that tumbled down the side of the couch.

Sherlock had frozen, surprised that Odella had been in the room, and then didn't move, transfixed at the sight of the woman gracefully sprawled across the sofa in a long night shirt that barely made it past mid-thigh, body extended and loose with drowsiness.

 _Oh._ _ **This**_ _is why John preferred cold showers._  Closing his eyes as well, Sherlock focused on Odella's humming instead, finding the notes she was repeating quietly were the ones he had been looking for in his mind. Writing them down, he didn't risk another look at Odella, choosing to stare back out the window while picking up his violin and playing the finished piece of music until he could no longer hear Odella humming along, only the soft breathing she adopted in sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

There was a strange tension in the air that morning. Odella could feel John and Sherlock's eyes on her when they thought she wasn't looking and noticed how both men went out of their way to avoid touching her. It made her chest tighten with anxiety, not realizing how much she could miss something as small as a light brush of fingers until now.

She tried to distract herself by reading, but she couldn't focus, becoming increasingly frustrated at the lack of communication. Clearly, she wasn't the only one. Sherlock scoffed at his latest experiment, pushing away from the microscope with an irritated sound while John stared blankly at the television, sighing every once in a while, unconsciously kneading his thigh in his chair.

Just when she felt she would burst into tears if someone didn't do something, Sherlock's phone went off, quickly followed by John's.  
"Case!" Sherlock sounded relieved. He tore through the living room. "John. We have a crime scene."

John was still staring at his own phone, rubbing his hand across his forehead.

"You'll have to go alone. Harry is having a crisis." He sounded tired.

"I'll just take Odella, then."

Frowning even more, John looked torn between denying either his sister or Sherlock. Seeing him hesitate, Odella tugged him out of his chair and wrapped her hands around his on the phone, pushing him towards the upstairs, clearly indicating that she and Sherlock would be fine.

Not moving up the stairs yet, John caught Odella just as she was letting go.

"Be careful, yeah?" the question seemed heavy with the unsaid, all three of them freezing.

Odella nodded and let herself be folded into a hug. Nuzzling against the wool of John's jumper, she placed a soft kiss under his jaw.

Surprised, John felt his heart skitter and before he could respond, the door had already closed behind the woman and the detective.

 

~

They rode in silence, Odella focusing on the tingling feeling that John's stubble had left on her lips, and Sherlock thinking about what had happened.

He had seen the kiss, of course he had. He wasn't sure what he how he was feeling or how he was supposed to feel. Jealous, he thought. Not what he felt, but what he was expected to feel.

But he didn't. Feel jealous, that is. It was John. He shared everything with John. Well, almost everything.

Recalling times when he felt possessive over John, when John went on dates or if a woman tried to take his attention away from Sherlock, he found that he felt none of the urgent need to shield John from Odella. And vice-versa. He had only felt possessive over the woman twice; once, when Anderson had ogled her like the idiot he was and then again, when Mycroft had visited and placed his pudgy, little hands on her.

Getting out of the cab, Sherlock felt the wind tug at his coattails. Odella shivered and pulled her her own jacket tighter around her. Unwinding his scarf, Sherlock tied it around Odella's neck, while already analyzing the crime scene from where they were standing.

Odella smiled softly at the way he had given her his scarf so naturally, not even hesitating when his long fingers brushed her bare skin, making her pulse jump.

Trailing a step behind him, she followed Sherlock to the roped off alleyway. Lestrade, Donovan, and Anderson seemed surprised to see her again and equally surprised to see Sherlock's trademark navy scarf tucked against her throat.

Both Sherlock and Odella automatically began running their eyes over the surrounding area.

"Jennifer Bishop, twenty-six, stabbed four times after suffering a beating." Lestrade gestured to the woman lying in a pool of blood, bruises painting her upper body a sickly shade. "Where's John?"

"With his sister. Who found her?" Sherlock circled the body before crouching down.

"Her boyfriend. When she didn't come home last night, he went looking for her." The DI nodded towards a distressed man leaning against a squad car. Odella watched him run a hand across his face and she couldn't help but feel that something was...off.

She watched his eyes harden as he caught her gaze, and suppressed a shiver. She had seen that look many times before.

Turning back to the crime scene, Odella made a noise in the back of her throat, getting Sherlock's attention. Looking up from the body, Sherlock studied Odella's drawn face and followed her glance at the boyfriend.

"I'd like to speak with him." He stepped back under the police tape and walked toward the squad car, leaving the others to follow.

Odella stuck close to Sherlock, growing increasingly on edge as they closed the distance between the crime scene and the car. Sherlock could see her tense in the corner of his eye and unconsciously stepped farther in front of her, shielding her from the man.

"The victim was your lover?" Sherlock asked.

"Girlfriend," the man corrected.

"So when you said she didn't come home last night, did you mean that she didn't return to your place or hers?"

"Hers."

"Have you ever laid your hands on Ms. Bishop before last night?"

"What?! How dare you suggest that I was the one who did this to her!" The man curled his hands into fists, one arm pulled tighter to his side than the other. Odella focused on that arm, watching the muscles twitch in his fingers and missed what Sherlock said next.

"You bastard." Face purple with rage, spit flying, the man made a move towards his pocket. Seeing this, Odella moved faster.

 _Click_. The sound of the safety on a gun being switched off made everyone freeze. All eyes turned to Odella, who had a Glock pressed to the side of the man's skull.

Reaching for his own gun, Lestrade found an empty holster. Taking a closer look at the one in the woman's hands, he realized it was his.  _Dammit, this did not look good._

Sherlock took in Odella's stance, not unlike John's when he held a gun, and felt his heart speed up when he reached her set jaw and determined eyes. Now was definitely not the time to discover, once again, that he was not as asexual as he thought.

Taking his eyes off of the way the wind lifted the ends of both her hair and his scarf, he faced the man. Pulling on the glove he had in his hand from earlier, he reached into the man's pocket and withdrew a knife, the hinges crusted with dried blood.

"I believe this is what was used to stab our victim." Depositing the weapon into a baggy, Sherlock stepped back to allow an officer to cuff the man. Meanwhile, Odella flicked the safety back on and casually dropped it back into its holster on Lestrade's hip, before turning back to Sherlock, both of them running their eyes across the other, checking to make sure everything was as it should be.

Clearing his throat, Lestrade interrupted the two, making Sherlock look up from where he was smoothing down his scarf around Odella's neck. "Sherlock, I can't have your girlfriend stealing my gun whenever it suits her fancy. It's bad enough having you steal my badge. I really should report her."

"But you won't," the taller man said confidently, finally satisfied that Odella was unharmed and purposely ignoring the term 'girlfriend'. "It's not my fault your team is incompetent and can't act quickly enough at the merest sign of a threat."

Turning a stern look at the woman in question, Lestrade felt his anger go. Staring up at him with the biggest brown eyes he had ever seen, Odella had one of Sherlock's coat lapels clenched in her hand as if she didn't want him out of her sight and her lips pushed out in a slight pout, looking like she had done no wrong. And being very attractive about it, too.

Lestrade cleared his throat again. "Right. Just don't let it happen again." Walking away, he reflexively checked his holster, relieved when he found his gun there.

Sherlock looked down at Odella, who still had her eyes big and blinked them owl-like when she met his gaze before her lips turned up in a sly smirk and her eyes twinkled. Chuckling, he was glad he had brought her with him.

 

~

"I won't be home until tomorrow. Harry is having a terrible go of it, and I'd rather not leave her until I'm sure she's sober enough to be left alone." Speaking in a hushed tone, John smoothed down his sister's hair, her head in his lap.

"Don't worry about us, we'll be fine. Besides, Mrs. Hudson is just downstairs." Sherlock watched Odella scribble in her journal on the other side of town.

"Just..take care of her, Sherlock." Hanging up, John shifted beneath Harry, trying not to jostle her awake.

"Who's she?" The slurred question came out as Harry rolled over to look up at her brother.

"A friend." He pulled the blanket that had slipped back up around Harry.

"Wha's er name?"

"Odella."

Squinting, Harry tried to focus on John's face. "Do'ya love her?"

Smiling softly, John patted his sister. "I like her. A lot."

Returning his smile, Harry snorted, "Is that'a yes?"

"Go to sleep, Harry." He tucked the blanket around her, ending the conversation.

 

~

Sherlock was lying on his bed, thinking about anything and everything, his mind too busy throwing ideas and questions around to shut down for a few hours of sleep. Hands by his side, ankles crossed, he stared at the ceiling.

A shuffling outside his partially open door drew him out of his thoughts for a moment. Odella stood in the doorway, teary eyed and clutching her pillow to her chest. She'd had a nightmare and after waking up in an empty bed, was looking for comfort.

Not sure why, Sherlock gestured to the right side of the bed before returning to his staring. He felt the bed dip and saw Odella curl up on her side next to him in the corner of his eye.

They stayed like that for awhile until, half asleep, Odella scooted over and snuggled against Sherlock's side, throwing an arm around his slender waist and placing one of her long legs between his own. He tensed at first but relaxed when Odella's breathing slowed again.

Time passed and Odella stirred a little, nuzzling her cheek against his chest, bringing him back out of his Mind Palace. Looking down at her, Sherlock realized that he had been running his fingertips along her arm in deep thought, ghosting over the scars. It was involuntary, and he hadn't known he was doing it until now.

Withdrawing his hand, he found his other had been tracing Odella's spine, his body responding to the warm one lying against him naturally. Sitting up, he untangled himself from the woman, waking her up in the process.

She blinked slowly before propping herself up on her elbow, momentarily confused of where she was and who she had woken up next to. Sherlock watched one of her camisole's straps fall off her shoulder, revealing the curve of her breast just above the neckline. Her top had ridden up, exposing the honey skin that covered her hips and the barely there little pudge she had gained from eating daily. Her bottoms were slung low on said hips and Sherlock could see the soft curve of her hipbones. He could smell her lavender shampoo, his mind reminding him that lavender was an aphrodisiac.

Odella was watching Sherlock, eyelids lowered against the lamp light, lips slightly parted unconsciously. Reaching out, she ran the pad of her thumb across the skin between his eyebrows, smoothing out the lines that accompanied his frown. She didn't know why she had done it but after withdrawing her hand, she remained propped up, the two of them just watching.

Sherlock had held his breath when she touched him, focusing on her eyes. He had never seen the mix of emotions in her eyes or in anyone else's for that matter. Her pupils were blown wide but that could be from the dimness of the room and the fact that she had just woken up. He studied her and she him.

Leaning forward a little, Sherlock raised the hand closest to her and brushed his finger across her cheek. She flinched instinctively at first but blushed and returned within his reach, apologetic, leaning into his hand.

All previous thoughts, ideas, and questions were slowly leaving his brain, making it easier to exist without the constant migraine of non-stop thinking. His mind was blessedly quiet, choosing instead to focus on the silk, mahogany hair he pinched between his fingers and the warm skin beneath his hands.

Eyes never leaving the other's, Sherlock bent forward, pressing their foreheads together and cupping Odella under her jawline running his thumb across the softer skin there.

"May I?" He whispered into the few inches between them. She blinked slowly, eyes fluttering before nodding slightly.

Sherlock placed his other hand on Odella's thigh and wrapped his long fingers around the base of her skull. Pulling her forward, he pressed his lips against her's, barely ghosting over the pink skin. Huffing small breaths against each other's mouths, he searched her eyes for any objections, and finding none, he slid their lips together again.

Odella had her hands placed palm down against his chest and felt his heart reverberate against his rib cage, matching the pulse that Sherlock could feel jump at her neck. Opening her mouth under his, she took the detective's bottom lip between her teeth and gently pulled, making him catch his breath and giving her the opportunity to slide her tongue out.

Running it across the inside of the captured lip, she tentatively brushed it against his and pushed herself up onto her knees. Sliding her hands over Sherlock's shoulders, she weaved her fingers into those ebony curls and arched her body against his.

Sherlock pressed his fingers into her hips, stroking the skin under her camisole, his tongue dancing languidly with Odella's.

She spread her knees before capturing the detective's hips between them, straddling his thighs. Pushing forward, her pelvis brushed Sherlock's, making them both hyper-aware of his straining bottoms.

Breath hitching, Odella began unfastening the buttons that held together the white shirt and hid Sherlock's pale chest. Popping each button, she would trail down the skin between his collar bone and the next button until the shirt was completely undone.

She pushed the cloth off Sherlock's shoulders and ached for his hands when he removed them to pull his arms out of the sleeves. Those long, slender hands returned though, gently shifting the hem of her top higher, exposing more tan skin than before.

Hooking his fingers under the elastic band of the built in bra, he tugged, freeing Odella's breasts. Raising her arms, she let him pull the camisole off before pressing her forehead against his and traced her fingers down his torso, keeping eye contact until her middle finger brushed a thin trail of midnight black hair. Looking down, she unconsciously bit her lip, running her nail through the hair, making the surrounding flesh break out in goose bumps.

Needing to see where the trail led to, she fingered the waistband of his trousers before slowly undoing the button and zipper, both holding their breath.

Before Odella could do anymore, Sherlock ran the backs of his hands up her sides and pushed her back towards him, arching her spine.  
With her looking down at him, he locked eyes with her before leaning forward and running his tongue across the small nipple placed in the center of areolae the same beautiful pink as her lips. She let out a breathy moan, the only sound either of them had made so far.

Encouraged, Sherlock kissed up the curve of her breast and dipped back down into her cleavage to do the same on the other side. He could feel her skittering heart against his lips and he tugged at the drawstring of her pajamas. Rolling down the waistband, he slid his hands down farther, pressing his thumbs into the narrowing crest of her hips.

Freezing, Odella clenched Sherlock's wrists in her hands, squeezing her eyes shut. Panic infested her veins, threatening to replace the soft lit room with a cold, dark one and Sherlock's gentle caress with rough, intrusive hands. Pressing her lips together, she tried to drag in a breath, fighting the feeling of suffocation.

Sherlock watched her face pinch together and crumble, the tendons in her neck straining under the skin. He sat still, letting her dig her fingernails into the weak flesh on the inside of his wrists.

"Hey," he whispered, "Odella." Although his fingers were losing blood flow from the vise she had on his wrists, he brushed them against her arm, trying to pull her out of whatever she was remembering.

She opened her eyes, tears betraying shame and naked sorrow. She looked down, trying to turn away and wrapping her arms around her chest, releasing Sherlock. Sitting back on her shins, she shook bodily.

Seeing one tear trail down her flushed cheeks, Sherlock reached forward to wipe it away only to have Odella jerk away. For the first time in three decades, he felt so incredibly human, his heart aching for the woman silently crying on his bed.

Moving slowly, he un-clenched her hand from where she had it wrapped around her upper arm. Stretching the limb out, he looked straight into those forest green eyes and, starting from the small one on her middle finger, he traced every scar gently with his fingers, first with light brushes, before his lips followed, feathering tender kisses along the length of raised skin.

Reaching her shoulder, he brushed her hair back and kissed along the shoulder blade, coming to her branding. Feeling her tense again, he splayed his hands across her stomach and ghosted his lips around the circumference of the scar tissue. Moving up her neck, he nipped at her earlobe before asking:

"Do you trust me?" Odella nodded slowly, leaning back into Sherlock's chest. Guiding her, he laid her down on his pillows. Lying next to her, he put enough space between them that although, they weren't touching, could still feel each other's body heat. Leaning down, her slipped his lips across hers, keeping his eyes open to see if she objected.

Eyes fluttering, she arched a little to meet him, the kiss sparking the need for more. She made a frustrated mewl when he didn't increase the intensity of the kiss, still gently brushing his lips with his, giving no indication of changing the current pace.

He could feel her shift next to him, impatiently trying to press closer to him. Sherlock moved away, until only their mouths were touching again. He repeatedly brushed away Odella's attempts at trying to place his hands on her, and knew she was growing frustrated. Which was the whole idea.

Finally, feeling desperate and like she might explode if this didn't escalate, Odella grabbed Sherlock's wrists and threw a leg over his waist, trapping him underneath her. Placing his hands on her hips, she dipped down and pressed her lips against his, easily taking control.

Sherlock smiled into the kiss, both of them groaning when tongues connected. Bringing one hand up, he brushed away any clinging moisture on her cheek before sliding it behind her neck, holding her against him. Melting against Sherlock, she rolled her hips back, breaking the kiss with a gasp when the action sent a lightening of pleasure through her. Judging by the way Sherlock cried out from beneath her, he had experienced the same thing.

With the overpowering urge to eliminate the amount of clothing between them, Odella tugged at Sherlock's trousers until he raised his hips to allow them to be tossed to the floor. She was momentarily surprised to find he had been wearing nothing underneath, but soon concluded that it would be difficult to wear undergarments  _and_  those ridiculously tight trousers at the same time. She wasn't complaining. Guiding Sherlock to her own bottoms, she hooked his thumbs in the waistband.

"Are you sure?" Sherlock didn't move, searching her face for any hesitations.

Was she sure? Would she let this man in places she had never willingly let anyone else? Looking down, she studied him. His usually pale skin was flushed, his lips were swollen, his eyes were blown so wide she could barely make out a ring of blue around the pupil, and his dark hair was messy, curling tendrils sticking to his forehead and neck. Was she sure?

_Yes. God, yes. A million times, yes._

Surging forward, she put everything into the kiss, simultaneously rotating her hips in answer. Still, Sherlock wanted to make sure, knowing that if they continued, he was sure he wouldn't be able to stop.

Odella made a noise in the back of her throat that he could feel through the kiss, a sort of growling sound that, combined with her movements, made him ache in places he had never thought he would use.

Sliding both her pajamas and underwear down, they joined Sherlock's on the floor. Feeling her heart beat deep in her stomach, Odella couldn't resist dragging her lower half across Sherlock's, both of them seeing white spots of pleasure.

Gasping into each other's mouths, Odella locked eyes with the man below her and reached down, taking him in her hand and lowering herself until her inner thighs were pressed flush against Sherlock's hip bones, wincing as she adjusted around him. Sherlock tensed, teetering on the edge before pushing the wave of release down.

Feeling him relax under her, she tugged him into a sitting position so she could press the rest of her body against his and still keep her mouth on his. Shivering at the way he shifted inside her as he sat up, she wrapped her arms around his neck and laced her fingers in his curls.

With one hand in the middle of her back and the other pressing into the crease where her thigh met her hip bone, Sherlock was deliciously lost in the smell of lavender and of the sweetness that was already dampening his sheets. He fought the urge to thrust up, wanting Odella to be in control, moving only when she was ready.

Lifting her body from her knees, she slowly lowered again, every nerve ending buzzing. Repeating the action, Odella broke away from Sherlock's mouth with a wet sound, throwing her head back and leaving Sherlock to place open-mouthed kisses across her neck.

Picking up speed, she pressed her forehead against Sherlock's, their shared eye contact making every sensation that much more intense. She was aware of the soft little sounds she was making in the space between their mouths, her mewls mixing with his groans. Never hearing her make so much noise, Sherlock loved every cry, amazed as they continued to increase in loudness, until she was practically drowning out his own moans of pleasure.

Feeling her contract around him, he knew the end was near for both of them. Drawing his knees up to support her lower back, he began thrusting upwards, joining Odella in her now frantic movements. The pressure between them built, Odella's mouth opening in uncontrolled bliss and tossed her head back.

"Sherlock!" She clenched around him as she screamed his name, the only word he had ever heard her say. Her voice and the heat of her release triggered his own orgasm, a white blanket clouding his vision and his breath catching in his chest.


	7. Chapter 7

The world seemed to be buzzing. Not an annoying buzz, but a calm, mellow sound. And feeling. Like cocaine. Or heroin. Or one too many nicotine patches. Closer to that last one. Maybe. He wasn't really sure. He definitely felt high. And warm. And his mind was quiet, thick with contentment. How long would it stay like this? Did he even want it to go back to functioning at high speed? He wasn't sure about that, either.

Feeling the warmth that was on top of him move, he cracked open his eyes. It took him a moment to focus on the woman above him.

 _How fascinating_. Reaching up a hand, he ran the pad of his thumb across her swollen lips, all of his attention pinpointed on the plush redness of the flesh.

Odella held still, content to let him do whatever it was he was doing, her heart swooping in adoration at the man's intense study of her.

Trailing his fingers down, Sherlock was drawn to the fluttering pulse that was slowly steadying.  
Placing her hand over his, she hooked one knee around his waist, and keeping them joined at the hips, rolled them over onto their sides so that they were both lying on the pillow.

Turning her palm in his hand, Sherlock ran his pointer finger over each knuckle, watching them bend in the space between them before tracing the creases on her palm. Eyes wide with a child-like wonderment, he caught sight of the turquoise veins that trailed down the inside of Odella's arm. Never had he realized how simply beautiful the blue vessels look under the honey skin. Odella suppressed a giggle as Sherlock practically went cross-eyed following the most prominent vein to her neck.

From there, he branched off, tracing veins across her chest until they could no longer be seen under the pinkish parts. The resulting goose bumps were much more intriguing, anyway. Shuddering, Odella felt over-sensitive; everything was still thrumming from earlier and Sherlock's unknowingly teasing touches were too much.

Gently removing his hand, she placed his arm around her waist and snuggled into his chest, sighing into the pale skin of his neck. Now he shivered, her warm breath making his eyes flutter closed. He briefly felt the nagging thought that he was ignoring something important but then Odella's hum of contentment cleared his mind again. Sherlock's last thought was of how deliciously warm and soft the woman curled into him was.

 

~

John had just thrown the last empty bottle into the bin when Harry stumbled in.

"Coffee?" Sliding the steaming cup across the counter, he was actually quite surprised she was even awake. She mumbled her thanks and slouched down in the kitchen chair.

"What time is it?" Harry scratched her head, looking around dazedly.

"Noon."

"Then why the coffee?" She frowned into her mug, confused at its existence this late.

Sighing, John poured himself another cup. "Couldn't sleep last night."

"...It wasn't because of..me, was it?"

"No, I knew you would be fine. I made sure of it." He paused, slightly embarrassed at his next words. "I'm not used to sleeping alone."

Harry squinted at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

"I've found that I sleep better next to someone. It helps the..nightmares."

"You're not bedding with Sherlock, are you?" Harry's tone gave away her amusement at the thought.

John felt himself flush. "No, of course not."

"Ooh, is it the girl from last night? Odella?" The teasing made John blush even more. "It is! Didn't think I would remember, did'ja? So what else does she  _'help'_  with, besides the nightmares?"

"Harry! We're not...we haven't...no! She just happens to sleep in my bed. With me in it. And sometimes she doesn't wear pants." Seeing his sister raise an eyebrow at the last sentence he had blurted out, he back peddled.

"Forget that last one! Besides, it helps her nightmares, too."

"Uh-huh. Right." Harry was clearly enjoying this.

"It's true."

Seeing that he was completely serious, she watched him run a finger around the mug rim in thought.

"Why, John Watson, you look like you might be in love. Even if she is bonkers and doesn't wear pants."  
John grinned and tossed the dish towel at her.

 

~

_American._

The word pounded behind his eyes, pulling him out of sleep. Why had he been asleep? It wasn't a Sunday.  _Was it?_

A lovely little cooing sound made him finally open his eyes. He was briefly confused at the web like, reddish strands that blurred his vision until he realized it was hair. Odella's hair.

She cooed again in her sleep, sliding the leg that had been resting on his hip farther down his thigh. The sound she was producing and the bareness of her...and him, capturing his interest. And not just mentally.

Shifting slightly, Sherlock angled his face to look at her. She hummed in response to his movements, stilling Sherlock until he realized he was encased by something warm and velvety.

Oh... _Oh._  They were still...They hadn't moved from last night.

Just as he was about to give into the temptation to repeat his previous movements, Sherlock heard a car door slam out on the street.

Curious as to who had been dropped off in front of their building, he reluctantly and slowly withdrew from the still sleeping Odella, hesitating for a moment when she elicited a disappointed whine.

Pushing back the curtain, Sherlock looked down. There was John, pulling out his key to unlock the front door. While upstairs, was the woman that Sherlock knew John was almost certainly in love with. In Sherlock's bed.

This was a bit not good. Okay, a lot not good. Sherlock wasn't sure how John was going to react after learning of his flat mates'...What was he to even call this?

Hurriedly pulling on his dressing gown, he padded out of his room, closing the door softly behind him. He could hear the front door being opened and frantically threw himself into his chair, trying to appear natural.

He had just managed to open yesterday's paper in front of his face when the flat door was opened.

"Why are you sitting in the dark?" John looked around the dim flat.

Sherlock looked around, as well, seeming to notice the drawn curtains for the first time.

"Oh. I..um." He cleared his throat and shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable.

"And why are you reading yesterday's paper?" Sherlock cursed all those times he had encouraged John to be more observant, the results clearly deciding to show up now.

When he didn't answer, John walked farther into the flat. "Sherlock, are you all right?"

The dark haired man stilled his tapping fingers and took a deep breath.

"You should sit down."

John lowered himself down into his own chair, watching the detective suspiciously.

"What's wrong?"

Sherlock frowned. "Nothing is wrong." His fingers came to life on their own, resuming their tapping on the armrest beneath them.

They sat like that for a few beats, John scanning Sherlock, waiting for him to speak and Sherlock looking everywhere but at John, trying to find his words. John was truly beginning to worry, watching Sherlock struggle with something he obviously found uncomfortable. It was only after he slapped his hands down on his thighs in frustration, preparing to get up from the chair, when the younger man spoke:

"She's American."

"Sorry. Who?" John steeled himself against the expected snarky comment that he usually received after asking a question Sherlock would deem obvious.

"Odella. She's American." John stared at Sherlock, shocked at the lack of insult and his words.

"How?"

"I assume she was born there and somehow managed to get a hold of the correct documents-"

"No, I mean how did you find out." John's worry didn't go away, Sherlock's last words void of any sarcasm but distracted. As if he was just getting around to thinking about it.

"Oh. Her accent."

"Accent? Wait, that means she must have had to talk. What did she say?" John couldn't believe he had missed it. This definitely felt like something he should have been here for.

"Not much, really. Just...my name..." Sherlock's words were mumbled and it took a second for John to comprehend what he had said.

"Your name? All she said was your name?" John was getting more confused and frustrated at each of Sherlock's answers.

"It..she sort of...screamed it." He ducked his head, his voice deepening slightly.

"Why would she...? She isn't hurt, is she?" John stood abruptly from his chair, feeling panic bubble in his stomach. "Where is she?"

"She's...fine. She's not hurt. She's sleeping." John calmed down a little, enough to catch Sherlock's quick glance at his bedroom door, his eyes nervous. Something wasn't right.

Stepping towards the bedroom, John wasn't sure if he wanted to open the closed door. He rested his hand on the doorknob and chanced a look back at Sherlock, who was worrying his lip, looking like he was on the verge of pulling John away.

"Joh-" The warning was cut short by him opening the bedroom door.

Whatever John was expecting, it wasn't this. He didn't know what was worse, the deductions he was making at Sherlockian speed, or the sights he had formed in his head before he saw what was really behind the door.

Splayed across Sherlock's bed, lying on her stomach was Odella. The sheet was tangled around her legs, barely covering the dip in her spine and leaving her back bare and exposed. Looking down, John saw Sherlock's trousers and shirt strewn next to a white camisole and a pair of pajama bottoms that were clearly Odella's, her purple underwear still in them.

Turning back to the living room stonily, he realized Sherlock was only in his dressing gown, the belt askew from being hastily tied, his long pale legs bare below the hem.

Practically slamming the bedroom door, John stalked up to the taller man and grabbed him by his robe collar.

"What have you done?" When Sherlock didn't answer, John let go of him with a forceful push. "How could you, Sherlock? Was running off the girls I liked not enough for you? Did you have to start stealing them, too?"

"John, I-"

"Were you bored, was that it? She isn't an experiment, Sherlock! You can't just do whatever you want with her! For God's sake, did you really think it was a good idea to...What if you've made things worse? Did you consider how this," he waved his hand at the door, "would affect her mentally. Did she even consent?" John was mad. Furious.

Sherlock inhaled sharply at the last question, clearly pained at John's underlying accusation. "John, this wasn't planned. It just...happened."

"It _just happened_?! What the hell does that supposed to mean? Nothing with you ever _ **just happens**_!"

"Keep your voice down, you'll wake her."

"Oh,  _now_  you want to take her into consideration."

"What are you saying? That I don't care about her? Believe you me, this is just as hard to comprehend for me as it is for you." Now Sherlock was getting a little worked up.

"Really? Because what I'm  _comprehending_  is that you got bored and decided hey, she's here, might as well have a nice SHAG!"

The word fell between them, John breathing heavily and Sherlock's face frozen in horror at the harshness of it.

"Why did you do it Sherlock?" John's voice was much quieter this time, tired.

"I...because...Because she's beautiful and clever. She's moody when she's tired and the way she sticks her tongue out when she is concentrating is wonderfully distracting. Because she sees some things from my point of view but is so much like you, too. She's stubborn, innocent but fiery, and absolutely amazing. She's...She's Odella." Sherlock's confession spilled out his mouth without a second thought and he blushed, looking away from John's shocked face.

"Bloody hell, Sherlock. You love her." John's tone matched his face. He was still angry; God was his blood still boiling under his skin, but he was defeated. "And she loves you. Why didn't I see it before? Of course she would; Look at you."

"John-"

"Of course she would choose you. I never really had a chance, did I? I just thought...Well, never mind." John looked around the flat as if he was lost.

"John, she didn't  _choose_  anyone. She loves you just as much as she does me."

"Right, because that's why she found her way into your bed while I was gone. Well, I'll let you get back to being happily in love with each other." And with that, he stalked out of the flat, slamming the front door on his way out onto the street.

 

~

The flat was deathly quiet for a moment until the sounds of muffled crying leaked from behind Sherlock's bedroom door. He approached his room slowly, giving Odella time to hear him coming and compose herself.

Sherlock tossed his dressing gown onto the floor and crawled next to Odella who had attempted to make it look like she was still asleep, despite his wet pillow. He slid closer and tucked himself against her back, pulling her into him when she began silently shaking again. She soon stopped sobbing, calming at the feeling of Sherlock rubbing his thumb in circles across her thigh.

"Is he leaving us?" Odella sounded as hurt as Sherlock felt.

"No. He'll be back." He swallowed any trace of doubt for her sake, not far from allowing his own tears fall.

 

~

John walked. For blocks, then streets, until his leg started cramping. He felt torn up on the inside. And then on the outside when his shoulder joined the aching in his chest and leg.

He didn't know where to go. Harry's place was out of the question; he couldn't handle telling her that the woman he loves and his best friend were...Mike was out of town, Molly had cats and he detested the things, Lestrade barely had room for himself and there was no way in Middle-Earth he was going to Mycroft.

He was still racking his brains for a place to crash when he passed by a pub. Retracing his steps, he glanced at his watch. Pushing open the door, he decided he would stick it out here for a couple of hours and then make his way home. Hopefully, by then, Sherlock and Odella would be asleep or otherwise distracted to notice him come in.

Bundling himself in a corner, he settled in for a long wait.

 

~

The next few days, John went out of his way to avoid the two, leaving for work early and only walking into the flat when absolutely necessary.

At night, he could hear Sherlock composing below him, mournful pieces that reflected Odella's face whenever he accidently caught a glimpse of her. None of them were happy. And it was torture.

Sherlock had tried coaxing Odella to talk more, but she refused, only answering in short bursts. The only real noise she made was one morning when she thought John had gone to work and Sherlock had gone to the morgue to confirm the identity of someone. John knew she hadn't been sleeping; he could hear her and Sherlock move around at night, but she had fallen asleep on the couch that morning, finally giving into her exhaustion.

Seeing this as an opportunity to make a much needed cup of tea, John crept into the flat. Steaming cup in hand, he made it to the flat door when he heard the first whimper. Freezing, he waited, torn between turning around to check on Odella and escaping to his room.

Another whimper reached his ears and he turned. Curled up on the couch, Odella's knees were drawn to her chest, a frown on her face. She twitched in her dream and cried out again. John moved unknowingly closer, stopping himself from scooping her up and trying to comfort her. He studied her, feeling guilty for the dark circles under her eyes and the ragged cuticles on her hands.

She shivered and pulled the sleeves of her jumper down farther. Looking again, John realized that it was his jumper. One he had been looking for just yesterday. Well, here it was, wrapped around the woman he had thought had rejected him. Now, he wasn't so sure.

Setting his tea down on the coffee table within Odella's reach, he grabbed his coat, needing to think. Walking out, he closed the door loud enough to wake Odella from her nightmares. It was the only thing he knew to do, short of gathering her up in his arms.

 

~

"John, I was wondering...if you would like to go grab a bite to eat? With me?" John looked up from his paperwork and into the face of one of the receptionists he had getting to know the last few days, Merissa. She was small and blonde, someone he would have found undeniably attractive if he wasn't comparing her features with someone who was curvy and had darker hair.

"Um..You know what? Sure. That sounds great." He smiled, something he hadn't done in days, even if it was a tad faked.

She was nice and sweet, entertaining him with stories about her last job as a receptionist in another doctor's office. Merissa made him laugh and forget about the situation back at the flat. He was able to relax and after saying their goodbyes, found that he wouldn't mind seeing her again.

 

~

Nothing improved at home. John still avoided Sherlock and Odella but then again, it had only been a week since John had returned from his sister's. So far, it seemed as if neither of them had even considered touching each other again, Odella returning to sleeping on the couch and Sherlock returning to not sleeping.

He could hear them murmering in the living room, mostly Sherlock consoling a shaken Odella, who had more nightmares than usual because she was sleeping more than usual and had even seen Odella flinch away from Sherlock's touch a time or two. It made John's chest ache at the isolation but Merissa eased the pain for a while. They went to the movies, out to dinner or coffee. Nothing serious. It was nice and she was friendly. And it was going good, until she asked:

"John, would it be possible to have a movie night at your place? I'd volunteer mine but I'm having the carpet shampooed."

Even though everything inside him screamed to object, he heard himself agree. He was going to bring home a woman he liked to a woman he loved and Sherlock.

Bloody hell, what has he done?

 

~

"I'm having someone over tonight." It was the first time John had spoken to Odella and Sherlock and they both jerked in surprise. Sherlock got up from his microscope, coming to hover around Odella who had been busy writing in her journal on the couch, casting weary glances at John. Odella looked at John hopefully, clearly relieved that he was talking to them again.

"Who?" John blinked at the question, unaccustomed to hearing her speak and forced his pulse to calm down at the sound of her voice.

He looked down and pushed the feeling of guilt away. "A friend from work. Merissa."

John risked a look at Odella and felt his stomach pitch; Her body had tensed, the hand clutching the pen white. Her eyes had turned puppy-like, big and sad, and her mouth quivered.

Seeing this, Sherlock placed a hand on her shoulder, one she brushed off as she stood.

"Well. I had better straighten the flat then, hadn't I?" Any trace of hurt was gone, leaving a frostiness that rivaled even Sherlock's chilly moods.

John was unexpectedly disappointed. He had hoped for some objection but clearly, he wasn't going to get any from Odella. Sherlock on the other hand, was looking like he was about to have a panic attack.

As soon as Odella had disappeared into the kitchen, Sherlock crept closer. "Are you mad? She'll tear your  _friend_  to pieces. If this is to make her jealous, know that you have. And it won't be pretty."

John swallowed loudly.

 

~

Sherlock watched her move around the flat purposefully until there was nothing left to straighten or put up. Fearful of what she would do if she didn't stay busy, Sherlock guided her into the kitchen, claiming he needed help with an experiment. She was standing over a pot of water on the stove when there was a knock at the door.

Before Sherlock could hold her back, she had made her way into the living room. Sherlock saw her tense as John gave his guest a peck on the cheek as he let her in but in the second it took John to turn to introduce the woman to them, her composure was smoother than anyone's he's ever seen. Besides his own and Mycroft's.

"Merissa, this is Sherlock and this is Odella." Sherlock nodded distractively at Merissa, solely focused on the unpredictable woman beside him.

Odella though, had a sugary sweet smile on her face, practically oozing puppy-like excitement as she swept a surprised Merissa into a hug.

"It's so nice to meet you!" John breathed a sigh of relief, his worry that Odella might react badly to Merissa lessening. Until:

"We were surprised to hear John had invited someone over; He hasn't mentioned you at all!" It was said in the nicest way possible, as if Odella hadn't thought that her words would cause a flicker of hurt to pass over Merissa's face like it did. But both John and Sherlock knew better.

"Right. Well, we'll leave you two to it, then. If you need anything, we'll be in the kitchen." She grabbed Sherlock's hand, and without sparing a glance at John, disappeared into the kitchen.

"She's..nice. And pretty." Merissa stared at the kitchen doorway, slightly startled by Odella and Sherlock's abrupt leave.

"Soo..what shall we watch?"

 

~

Sherlock studied Odella as she stood at the stove with get back to him, humming.

"Stop watching me like I'm some kind of nut case. Don't worry, I'm not going to suddenly go psycho and chop John's pretend girlfriend into pieces."

Sherlock jumped, still not used to her speaking and surprised she knew he had been watching her.

"Pretend?"

"Mmm. John likes her, yes, but not enough for this little thing," she waved get hand towards the living room, "to go any further."

"What makes you say that?" Sherlock's curiosity got the better of him, wanting to know just what Odella had observed.

"She has cats. Three. John thinks anything in the feline family is the work of the devil. Clearly, he doesn't know about them or she wouldn't be here."

Sherlock couldn't help but feel admiration for the woman who ceased to amaze him and even felt bad for his next word.

"Four."

Odella frowned and Sherlock thought she hasn't understood but then she closed her eyes and held out a hand, ticking off four fingers.

"Right you are. I only looked at the hair color stuck to her coat, not the length. She has a yellow one, a black one, and two white ones, one long haired the other short." She opened her eyes and snuck a look into the living room before muttering, "She really likes her cats. Good."

Sherlock hesitated before speaking. "Odella, maybe you should reconsider whatever it is you're planning." He was all for getting rid of John's new friend but something in Odella's eyes worried him.

"Why, whatever do you mean?" She made her eyes go wide with innocence and stuck her lips out into a pout. Not for the first time in the last week did Sherlock resist the urge run his thumb across her bottom lip like he had that night.

Catching his gaze on her mouth, she lost her composure, wanting to plop herself down in Sherlock's lap,bury her head in his neck, and forget about John's anger and avoidance. She wanted Sherlock to hold her but she felt that she couldn't, knowing how much it would hurt John if he saw.

Refusing to let her eyes fill with tears, she squeezed them shut and turned back to stove, checking the temperature of the water.

"What did you say the temperature needed to be?" She flinched as her voice cracked.

Not trusting his own voice, Sherlock came to stand next to her, stopping his arm short of resting it on her lower back.

"It's hot enough. You can go ahead."

Odella reached for the glass bowl just as John and Merissa came into the kitchen, both of them laughing. Sherlock heard Odella take a deep breath before yanking the bowl towards her, anger making her movements jerky. Without thinking, he wrapped a hand around her wrist just as she was about to slam the bowl down into the pot of water.

"Gently."

Both John and Odella froze, both staring at Sherlock's pale hand circling her own. Odella was the first to recover, only a hint of worry etched around her lips as she stole a quick glance at John.

"Right. Sorry." She slowly lowered the bowl into the water. Sherlock brushed his thumb across the inside of her wrist in apology before he let go. She gave him a sad smile and turned to the other two.

Merissa was looking back and forth between John,Odella and Sherlock, clearly confused at the sudden tension in the room. Clearing her throat, Odella smiled politely.

"Why don't you make some tea, John? I would make it but I can never get it as perfect as you do."


	8. Chapter 8

"So, what part of America are you from, Odella?" Merissa asked

"I'm not really sure, to be honest. I must have blocked it out because I can't ever seem to remember." Odella frowned, "It was most likely one of the coastal states."

Merissa looked confused. "Oh." She pursed her lips. "You mean, you don't remember the place you grew up?"

"There's a lot of things I don't remember." Odella shrugged as if it wasn't a big deal, but both Sherlock and John saw her bite the inside of her cheek in silent frustration at her lack of memory.

Catching both men's concerned faces, Odella turned back to the stove, shifting slightly to allow John to place the kettle on, even though she wanted to lean closer to him rather than farther away.

"I remember small things like my old tire swing that hung from a tree just off the back porch, the smell of the linen closet, the necklace my mother never took off. One I wish I would have asked to have before she was buried with it. Just the little details." Odella kept her back to the others, embarrassed she had let so much slip.

"Oh," Merissa spoke through the apparent awkwardness at the mention of death. "Did you ever have any pets?" She changed the subject, her voice a bit too cheerful.

"My father refused to let me keep anything for myself, so up until I was a teenager, I had never had anything." She didn't sound bitter, just thoughtful. "But, once I realized there were things my father didn't need to know, I actually hid a few pets in a shed out in the woods behind my house." She smiled and turned back around to face the kitchen.

"Really? What kind?" John and Merissa were watching her and Sherlock was scribbling something down in a notepad but by the way he had his head cocked, he too was paying close attention. After all, this was new information.

Odella laughed and leaned against the counter. "Anything I could find and persuade to follow me home. Stray dogs, stray cats, the neighbor's goat, if it needed somewhere to go, it was coming with me." She laughed again, shaking her head. "I loved them all, especially the goat. Then again, it was easy to love something when you had nothing."

The kitchen quieted, Odella thinking, Sherlock and John smiling softly without knowing they were doing so, and Merissa wondering about the fond but sad looks both men occasionally aimed at the strange woman by the stove.

"Hmm. Do you think they are done, Sherlock?" Odella leaned over the pot, wrinkling her nose at the steam that rose up into her face.  
"What are you making?" Merissa asked, curious.

Seeing John's slightly panicked look, Odella smiled innocently before answering, "Eyeballs."

Laughing hesitantly, Merissa looked at John, who was giving Sherlock a dirty look.

"What? It's for an experiment." Sherlock didn't miss the quick look of satisfaction on Odella's face when Merissa realized she wasn't joking.

"Why on earth would you cook eyeballs?"

Odella answers before Sherlock. "Well somebody put them in the freezer," she gave John a pointed look, "and they needed to be defrosted. They would have exploded in the microwave, baking would have made them shrivel up too much and letting them thaw would take too long. Steaming them is the only logical thing left." She leaned over the pot again, sticking out a finger and poking the contents of the bowl before looking satisfied.

John sighed. "Merissa, I'm sorry. I forgot to warn you that my flat mates are not normal. At all."

"Right. How about that movie?" She moved towards the living room, unable to take her eyes off the stove until John took her by the arm and led her out of the kitchen.

John could have been imagining it, but he thought he saw Odella smile wickedly, her cheeks a pretty pink from the steam.

 

~

All was peaceful for about ten minutes before Odella walked into the living room, a laundry basket on her hip.

"John, do your underwear go next to my underwear or my bras?" She frowned cutely at the garments in question.

"How do you know they're not Sherlock's?" John was aware of Merissa's own frown.

Odella scoffed, "Please, that man doesn't even own a pair of underwear to put in an underwear drawer, if he had one. You should know that by now. I mean, he practically prances around as if he's Adam in the Garden of Eden."

Merissa's frown deepened and John felt himself getting worked up at Odella's deliberate yet clever taunting.

"Just put them wherever, then."

She shrugged and made her way up to their room, hips swinging slightly and momentarily distracting John.

"Ahem." Merissa raised her eyebrows before settling back against the couch.

John blushed and not for the first, nor would it be the last time regretted the night.

Sherlock had heard the exchange from the kitchen, his amusement and nervousness growing.

He started when Odella walked in smiling and watched her sit across from him at the table, picking up a pair of safety glasses and putting them on.

"So, what now?" She gestured to the now soft eyeballs.

"You..want to help me?" Sherlock studied the woman in front of him, slightly distracted at how his insides pitched at the sight of her in goggles.  _Goggles turn you on, really?_  Apparently.

Her mouth twitched. "What, afraid you'll end up like the last two men that happened to be around me when I had a sharp object in my hand?"

Sherlock could hear her withdraw, guarding herself against his expected rejection.

"No. It's just that no one has ever...offered to help me. Nor have I ever wanted anyone's help." Sherlock cocked his head at Odella, confused at how completely okay, happy even, feeling Odella's interest produced.

"I believe you said you hadn't wanted anyone's help on another matter, but we both know that changed." She tilted her head slightly in the direction of his bedroom, not teasing just making an observation.

"Yes. Well. As I've said before, you're not just anyone, are you?" This came out softer than Sherlock could have imagined, in response to the liquid color of Odella's eyes.

She smiled tenderly and accepted the scalpel Sherlock offered her.

 

~

John tried to focus on the movie and the woman sitting next to him but he kept finding himself straining to hear what was going on in the kitchen. He could hear Sherlock's deep voice sometimes, but not Odella's. Not being able to stand it, John looked around for some excuse to go into the other room.

"More tea?" He stood, picking up his and Merissa's mugs, not waiting for an answer before walking into the kitchen.

He paused in the doorway when he saw both Odella and Sherlock huddled over something.

"Now, make an incision from here to here." Sherlock pointed to something in Odella's hand.

"How deep should I go? Through the cornea and aquarus humour, or farther?"

"Yes, that's fine. I need the iris to be unscathed. Now, cut around here." He indicated again.

"Shall I cut through the ciliary muscle or keep it connected?"

"Connected, please. Now hold it over the bowl; this might get messy."

"Does it matter if I break open the vitreous body?"

"No, I have no need of the vitreous humour. Okay, now if I may?" Sherlock sounded a little out of breath as he held his hand out for Odella to transfer what ever it was she had in her hand into his.

"Now what?" Odella stood there, scalpel ready.

When Sherlock didn't answer right away, she bit her bottom lip. "What?"

Never in his entire life, had Sherlock become this flustered during an experiment. It didn't help that Odella knew exactly what she was talking about, even if it was something as basic as the structure of the human eyeball. He was literally considering pushing everything off the table onto the floor and-

"Sherlock, what have I said about dissecting things at the kitchen table?" John could see the flush that was creeping up from Sherlock's shirt collar and refused to think of why it was there.

Both Odella and Sherlock turned to John, the detective looking a little guilty and Odella looked pleased at John's aggravation.

"Technically, he wasn't the one doing the dissecting. You never told me  _I_  couldn't." She picked up a part of the dismembered eye and held it up to the light, fascinated.

"Odella. Put it down." John felt his stomach clench.

"Why?" She wiggled it a little, making it look even more disgusting.

John looked away, his irritation growing. "Can't you two act normal? Just for one night, can't you at least pretend you aren't crazy?"

"Oh, John. If you wanted normal, you wouldn't have moved in with a high-functioning "sociopath" nor would you have taken a strange, bloodied girl off of the street." Odella sighed his name in a distracting way. "You couldn't live with normal, John. I know that, Sherlock knows that, and you know that.  _She_  doesn't." She inclined her head towards the living room before turning back to the table and cleaning up her mess.

John refilled the mugs and returned to the couch, Odella's words being more true than he cared to admit.

 

~

Sherlock couldn't focus on the specimen in front of him with Odella sort of wandering around the kitchen as if lost. John hadn't seen the look on her face as she said those last words, but Sherlock had; he had seen the way the corners of her mouth trembled slightly, the top of her cheekbones flushed with unshed tears.

She still had a fragile look in her eyes now, but her mouth was pursed in anger, and Sherlock knew she was mercilessly worrying the inside of her cheek with her teeth. Odella absently rubbed at the scar tissue on her shoulder, eyes squinting in discomfort.

Realizing he wouldn't get anything done like this, Sherlock stood and approached Odella, who was watching him warily. Taking her hand, he led her to the kitchen chair she had previously sat in. Removing her hand from her branding, Sherlock brushed her hair over her other shoulder and placed his palm across the rounded scar, warming the skin. Sighing, Odella leaned on her elbow, allowing Sherlock to finally touch her.

He was incredibly interested in the way she scarred; keloiding as a result of an overproduction of collagen. They were much more fascinating than his own flat scars, but he knew from the way her's would swell and turn an angry shade of red, they caused her pain. John's bullet wound was the same way, but then again, most people scarred like that on their upper body. Odella though, had the thick, ropy scars on her hands, although they were smaller, and all down her back and legs. Finding a smooth patch of scar tissue was rare, found only on the softest parts of her. Places that were now hidden under her tank top and yoga pants.

Sherlock could feel the now warm tissue loosen under his fingers and grow softer. Odella also loosened, the tension lessening in her back until she was being supported only by the elbow she had propped on the table.

When Sherlock began to feel her head drooping, he nudged her up and led her into the living room to his chair, pulling it out of the line of sight of the two sitting on the couch. Sitting down, he gathered a pliant Odella into his lap tucking her head under his chin, letting her legs hang over the other armrest. He would have led her to his bed but that would have made too much of a scene for anyone's taste.

He watched her doze, knowing it had been days since she had been this relaxed, her sleep interrupted by nightmares and worries. He sighed, watching her hair ruffle against his exhaled breath and seeing that she was content, retreated into his Mind Palace.

 

~

John couldn't help but notice the way Sherlock guided Odella as if she were something extremely breakable. Maybe she was; already cracked around the edges just waiting for the final splinter that would shatter everything, cracks that John was widening.

From this angle, he could see the reddened skin around the circular scar, feeling his own twinge in sympathy. But the exposed skin was soon covered protectively by a large pale hand as Sherlock settled her in his lap.

He didn't seem to notice John and Merissa watching him, focused solely on the woman gathered against him. The hand covering her shoulder moved to her head, fingers threading through her hair as Sherlock became perfectly still in deep thought.

Merissa made a small gasp at the sight of the now visible scar and John felt the urge to shield Odella from her view, but didn't move.

"I can't imagine..." Merissa looked slightly horrified, unable to take her eyes off of Odella's bare shoulder.

"I can." John squeezed his own shoulder, making Merissa tear her eyes away, confused at John's response. Pulling down his shirt, he exposed the bullet's entry point, not caring how he must look.

She gasped again, the sound only making John more irritated. "John. I didn't realize...I'm sorry." And there was the pity John was so tired of seeing. He turned away, eyes focused on the television, unseeing.

Merissa cleared her throat awkwardly. "I didn't mean to be insensitive, I didn't know."

John could feel himself settling into a mood, growing angry at her stumbled apologies, Sherlock's stone-like stillness and Odella's apparent resignation getting to him more than her previous attempts at fraying his nerves.

"John. Say something."

Turning back to Merissa, he made a decision. "Have you ever dealt with someone who had PTSD?"

Not the words she was expecting, Merissa blinked. "No."

"Have you ever woken up next to someone who was screaming and crying, just because of a dream?"

"No. John what does this have to do with anything?"

"On a scale from one to ten, how normal would you say your life is?"

"Oh, I don't know, John. A nine." She was getting exasperated now. "What is this all about?"

Without pausing, John answered, "I'm sorry, Merissa. This isn't going to work. It's not you...well, actually it is you. I don't think we should see each other again."

"What..What are you saying?" Merissa's voice rose a bit.

John's, though, continued in the same flat tone he started out with. "This little..thing is over. You should leave now."

Merissa stood, snatched her coat up angrily. "It's because of  _her_ , isn't it?" Although she nodded towards the corner where Sherlock and Odella were, John didn't move to look.

When he didn't answer, Merissa scoffed. "It is." She shook her head. "She's got both of you wrapped around her finger, doesn't she? You know, there's a word for women like her: A wh-"

"I believe it's time for you to go." Sherlock's cold voice interrupted the insult, leaving no room for questions. Beside him, stood Odella, eyes wide, tucked into his side.

Merissa's nostrils flared but she left, casting John an angry glare and slamming the door on her way out. They stood there quietly, until Odella stepped away from Sherlock.

"John?" She approached slowly, aware of the intense air in the room. "Are you alright?"

Without turning, John laughed humorlessly. "Am I alright? You're smart, Odella. Figure it out." His answer came out bitingly, as he practically choked on his anger.

"John, I'm sorry." She cautiously reached out, laying a hand on his arm. John jerked away from her, turning to face her. Odella flinched, eyes clenched shut, body rigid, waiting for some kind of blow. When none came, she slowly opened her eyes, her gaze fearfully trained on John's furiously clenched fist.

 _She thought I was going to hit her._  John felt sick. With anger, regret, self-loathing. He backed away, and without saying anything, yanked open the flat door and slammed it behind him.

 

~

Odella hadn't moved and when Sherlock laid a hand on her, he expected her to look up at him with watery eyes. Instead, those eyes had darkened, a wildfire dancing under fine lashes. He could feel her body vibrating with rage under his hand and without warning, she moved away.

Sherlock watched her, the look in her eyes unsettling him, but he felt more comfortable when she sat down in his char, scowling at the room. He had seen her angry before, been on the receiving end of it, but before it had been cold. This, this was a boiling anger. And it scared him.

"Odella?" She gave him a withering look and he retreated into the bathroom once it seemed like it was safe to leave her alone.

Odella sat there. For the first ten minutes, she was able to stay still. But soon, it wasn't enough, her blood refusing to cool as she replayed every single act of John's refusal to understand.

Standing, she stormed into the kitchen. She saw red. Red, everywhere. Unhinging the jaw she had been violently clenching, she screamed and swept her arm across the counter, scattering dishes, papers, and everything else onto the floor. She flung the chairs against the kitchen wall, barely registering the sizable dent she made in the plaster. Her vision still not clearing, she upended the table, the tinkling of glass hitting the linoleum only feeding the heat in her stomach.

"Sherlock!" Mrs. Hudson stalked into the flat in her dressing gown and curlers, her scolding stopping short when she saw it was Odella making all the racket instead of the detective.

"Odella, what is this?" She clearly hadn't expected to find the young woman ripping through the flat. "What is wrong with you? People are trying to sleep."

Odella screamed in frustration again, tearing into the living room, kicking piles of books to the ground and flinging pillows across the room. The bathroom door whipped open and Sherlock strode out, tendrils of steam curling around him.

"What the devil are you doing?" Seeing the young woman pace furiously, he cursed himself for leaving her alone. Glaring up at him with shiny eyes, she whirled around, silky hair fanning out dramatically as she retraced her steps.

"Stop it, this instant. You're just going to upset John even more, not including the whole block with all your racket." Grabbing Odella by the arm, he could feel his irritation from the past week finally reach its limits.

Odella jerked free with a snarl and made towards the flat door but suddenly, strong arms were holding her back.

"Odella. Stop." She could only faintly hear Sherlock's voice over her screeching. "Odella! Stop kicking me! Dammit!"

"LET ME GO! LET ME GO!" Her screams turned into sobs and she went limp, slumping against the door, Sherlock's arms the only thing stopping her from completely falling against the wood.

Sherlock fought Odella's feeble attempts at pushing him away, gathering her up in his arms and letting her claw at his shirt, blinded by her tears. He found himself sitting cross-legged on the floor, rocking Odella, murmuring to her and feeling like he wanted to fold this woman up inside of him. Anything to stop the crying.

"Oh dear." Mrs. Hudson could be heard from the other side of the now closed door. "Sherlock?"

The landlady's voice seemed to quiet Odella down a bit, enough that Sherlock was able to lead her to the couch. She had stopped crying now, pulling her legs up to her chest and curling herself up into the corner where the back of the couch and the armrest met. The fire in her eyes had dimmed, leaving just a low simmer and she looked ashamed at her loss of control.

Sherlock sighed and stepped out into the hallway to speak to Mrs. Hudson.

"I apologize for Odella's behavior. I will make sure this doesn't happen again." Sighing again, Sherlock made sure Odella was where he left her before continuing.

"Earlier this evening, John brought home a date. Odella didn't like it and, never having experienced jealousy before, did the only thing she knew to: be destructive."

"But I thought John was head over heels for Odella."

Scratching his head, Sherlock hesitated. "He is...but so am I, it would seem. John has decided that, after discovering Odella has feelings for me, she is choosing me instead of him. This clearly, isn't true, as she has shown. It's all very complicated and tiring. This is uncharted waters for me, Mrs. Hudson. And Odella." He leaned against the wall and rubbed his thumb across his bottom lip, exhausted.

"It will all work out, dearie. You wait and see." Patting his arm, the older woman made her way back down to her own flat.

"I hope so."

 

~

Returning to his war zone of a flat, Sherlock slowly approached Odella, who was currently dismantling John's pens one by one, littering the floor with pen innards, her last feeble attempt at being destructive.

"Odella." She flinched at her name, Sherlock's tone sharper than either of them expected. Trying again, the dark haired man squatted in front of the chair, eye level with the woman in front of him.

"Odella, look at me." Softer this time, his voice wasn't as scary.

Looking up from unscrewing a pen cap, Odella stilled, meeting Sherlock's eyes. His heart twisted at the shiny tracks that trailed down her cheeks.

"You can't do this. You can't fly around the flat in a rampage." He spoke as if to a child, gently plucking a pen spring out of Odella's hair.

Lifting her chin, she stared accusingly. "You do." Her show of weakness over, she felt the need to be difficult.

Still unaccustomed to her musical voice and American accent, Sherlock paused before answering.

"I won't if you won't." He stood up and held out his hand, knowing neither of them would really agree.

Ignoring his hand, she shoved pen parts to the floor and brushed past him, heading towards his bedroom. Smirking, Sherlock followed, careful not to step on pen caps, knowing that her stubbornness was a good sign.

Throwing herself onto the nearest side of the bed, she looked at Sherlock, challenging him to move her.

"Budge over." He nudged her.

Not moving she snuggled in deeper, clearly trying to be an annoyance. Sighing, Sherlock walked around the bed and crawled in on the other side.

Automatically reaching for the warm body next to his, he was rewarded a childish harrumph but only chuckled and tucked Odella against him.

He could hear her grumbling into his chest and jumped when he felt two icicles snake their way up his leg.

" _Jesus_." He felt his skin break out in goose bumps as Odella continued to press her freezing, bare feet against him.

"Nope. Odella." She whispered, joking weakly and snuggled closer, burying her face in his neck. She sighed, feeling a little light headed, emotionally exhausted.

Sherlock smiled and ran his fingertips across her back until she was no longer awake.

 

~

Sherlock was jolted out of his Mind Palace when he felt sharp pricks of pain fan out across his chest. Slowly opening his eyes, he became aware of Odella digging her nails into his skin, small whimpers lost in his neck where she still had her head buried.

He placed his hands over hers, wincing when she flexed her fingers deeper and tried to remove them. Once free, Odella wrenched away from Sherlock, still asleep, and curled up jerkily, her cries growing louder as she scratched at the scars on her arms.

Reaching for her, Sherlock stilled her hands before she had the chance to draw blood. As soon as he had her arms in his control, she froze. He held his breathe, unsure of what the woman would do.

Eyes squeezed shut, she screeched and began kicking, trying to free her arms. She continued to shriek and thrash even after Sherlock had called her name.

"Odella!" He grabbed her face in his hands, letting every other part of her go and waited until her screams quieted down to shuddering sobs.

"Open your eyes. It was just a dream." Brushing her hair back with one hand, he used the other to stroke her cheek. "Odella, you're fine. Shh."

She opened her eyes, fear clouding the irises before she realized where she was. Fear was replaced with shame when she felt Sherlock wipe at the tear tracks marking her face.

Flinching away from his hands, she pulled her knees up, putting distance between them and avoiding his eyes. Scrubbing at her face, she sniffed, knowing the wetness she wiped away would soon be replaced by the tears that continued to snake down her cheekbones.

Wanting to comfort her but unable to do so, what with her tensing every time he tried to even touch her, Sherlock crawled out of bed and walked up to John's room.

 

~

The screaming woke him up. His heart skittered, automatically reaching for Odella, panicked when he realized she wasn't there, and then felt his stomach harden when he remembered she was with Sherlock, in his bed.

He could hear her shrieking downstairs. Although it wasn't loud, he had unconsciously trained himself to wake up at even the softest whimper that signaled Odella was having a nightmare.

John lied there, clenching his hands into fists as he heard Sherlock's deep voice call out her name and then silence. He resisted the urge to run to her, telling himself that she was in the arms she wanted to be in. She had chosen who she wanted to comfort her, hold her, and it wasn't him.

He had heard her earlier, after he had walked out, heard the crashes of things being shoved to the floor and then her defeated sobs. Much of the building had. But unlike the other tennents, John knew he was the cause of the noise, his chest aching so much he feared he might have actually been having a heart attack.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs before his door was opened and Sherlock peeked in.

"John? I know you don't want to see me or Odella, but..could you…" Making a frustrated noise that revealed at how helpless the situation had made him feel, he swallowed his pride. "She won't let me touch her. I thought that she might let you, seeing as she used to waking up with you there."

John considered refusing, but for all the tears he had heard Odella cry that night, he couldn't say no anymore.


	9. Chapter 9

"I thought you left me." Odella mumbled from inside the small ball she had curled herself into, her quieting sobs muffled into her knees.

"I did, but only to bring someone back with me." Sherlock sat on the edge of the bed, his arm lifted as if to reach towards Odella but seeing her tense at the dip of the bed, he pulled it back, sighing. John stood in the doorway considering going back upstairs until Odella's voice made him change his mind.

"John?" It was asked in the smallest voice she had ever used, completely oblivious of how it made his heart clench.

He stepped into the room and didn't hesitate to sit opposite of Sherlock, focusing on the woman who was slowly uncurling herself to look at him in the dark. He smiled softly and she let out a sob, reaching for him.

John let her cling to him as he held her, rocking slightly. Odella buried her face in his t-shirt and he could feel her relax against him, her sobs only small sniffles now. When he felt her finally grow heavy with exhaustion, he pulled her towards Sherlock's pillows, moving slowly as she wouldn't let him go, even for a minute.

He only managed to get her settled when Sherlock untangled her legs from John's, only to have them trapping his own. With Odella between them, the two men settled on either side of her with no hope of getting free.

Watching Odella sleep, John found he couldn't be angry with her, not at the moment. He sighed, completely confused about this whole situation and finally dozed with Odella's arms entwined around his neck, her face tucked into his neck.

 

~

It was probably a good three hours later when John felt Odella's death grip loosen enough for him to slide out of the bed. He crept towards the door but on impulse, looked back at the two sleeping forms in the bed. He had never seen Sherlock sleep so much or so comfortably; he was curled around Odella who had now burrowed herself into his arms, unaffected by John's absence on her other side.

John looked away quickly and made his way back up to his own room, knowing he wouldn't sleep once he got there. Instead, he needed to make a decision. A heartbreaking one to even think about.

 

~

Odella felt the left side of the bed grow cold and she shivered, turning to the warm body next to her, fighting the feeling of emptiness that echoed against her now turned back.

 

~

"I'm leaving. I thought you should know." John's voice interrupted Odella and Sherlock's hushed conversation.

Odella froze, wrapped in one of Sherlock's dressing gowns, hair still wet from a shower and curling into soft waves. Slowly, she turned away from Sherlock to face John.

"What?" The word was asked breathlessly as if she had been kicked in the chest. And it felt like she had been.

"I'm moving out. I can't stay here." John looked away, unable to witness the responding looks on either Sherlock or Odella's face. Instead, he focused on her hand tightly clasping Sherlock's knee and tried to reassure himself that he was making the right decision.

When no one moved, John cleared his throat and offered one more: "I just thought I'd tell you." before hastily retreating up to his room.

As soon as he had the door closed, he sagged against it for a minute before he took a deep, determined breath and began throwing his clothing into his duffle bag.

"He...he can't." Odella dug her fingernails into Sherlock's knee, her eyes glazed. Sherlock watched her face change; the shock soon replaced by hurt, and then fury.

"He can't." She said again, her voice threatening, twisting her fingers slightly, making Sherlock hiss in pain. "I won't let him."  
Prying her clenched hand off of his leg, Sherlock made a decision, one that felt right and one he was curiously fine with.

"Odella, look at me." Her eyes softened around the irises and she tamed her anger to turn to him.

Reassured even more, Sherlock stood, bringing Odella with him. Cupping her face, he bent down and, for the first time since the night John had been at his sister's, kissed her.

She was still at first but gradually melted against him, and putting all of her pent up frustration from the last week avoiding any sort if touch from Sherlock, they soon found themselves breathlessly pulling apart. His decision further reaffirmed, Sherlock smiled softly.

"Do you think I'm selfish for loving you both?" Odella swayed towards the lips held temptingly in front of her only to catch herself. She needed to hear his answer.

Laughing lowly, Sherlock leaned even farther in. "Incredibly so. But I'm not complaining." He brushed their mouths together, noting Odella's small intake of air before pushing her gently towards the stairwell. "Go."

Searching Sherlock's face for any doubts, she found none. Odella nodded, set her jaw and headed upstairs.

Sherlock watched her go, silently wishing John luck; he would need it.

 

~

"We need to talk." Odella stood in the doorway, one hand gripping the doorknob so hard her knuckles turned white.

"What's there to talk about?" John didn't pause as he folded his t-shirts and placed them in his bag.

"You're smart John. Figure it out." Somehow those words sounded so much more scathing coming out of her mouth than they had from John's the night before.

"And if I feel there is nothing to talk about?" John refused to show any weakness.

"You don't get to make that choice." Odella stepped farther into John's room, slamming the door behind her. She crossed her arms and placed herself in front of the door, as if to block John from leaving.

"It seems I don't get to make many choices anymore," John threw the shirt he was attempting to fold into the bag in irritation.

"Really? Because I'm pretty sure bringing home Mrs. Blonde and Boring  _was_  your choice."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Did I make you jealous? At least you didn't find out I was seeing someone by coming home to us going at it!" John finally turned to Odella, too angry to focus on packing.

"We both know how that would have ended." Odella's voice was so low that John couldn't mistake her threat.

"Well, you won't have to worry about that happening once I'm gone." He turned back to his packing.

"Oh? And where will you go once you're gone?" she challenged him.

"I don't know. I can't stay here." He yanked open the middle drawer of his dresser, the urge to escape growing.

"Why? Why can't you stay?" When John didn't say anything, Odella asked something that had been in her mind since she watched the casket lower the only person she had ever loved before now into the ground: "Do I make it easy to leave?"

It came out more broken than she wanted and it made John pause for just a second before he continued rummaging around his drawers as if he hadn't heard her. So she asked the other question that had haunted her her whole life:

"Am I easy to hate?" Odella wasn't looking at him, instead she gazed at the side of the bed that used to be her's and pulled her arms tighter around her waist. John couldn't take it anymore.

"That's really why you think I'm leaving? Because I hate you?! Well it's not. It's because I can't bare the thought of the woman I love being in love with my best friend! Where does that leave me? You can't love me, too. Not when I'm up against Sherlock!" John was tossing things on his bed, slamming his drawers shut in the midst of his raised voice.

"Yes I can. I can love you, too." John stopped at glared at Odella who defiantly stared back.

He scoffed, "Please, don't insult me; you can't possibly love us both the same."

John saw the tightening of her body and knew he had definitely hit a nerve.

"Really? Don't be a fucking hypocrite, John! You love Sherlock just as much as I do and just as much as you love me. Don't you dare tell me who I can and cannot love or how much I can love them. That has never been your decision." She stopped to catch her breath, realizing she had never been this angry in her entire life.

John on the other hand, was completely taken aback at her words. So they stood there, staring at each other; John's mind telling him that what she has said could very well be true and his body telling him that apparently, Odella's use of a certain curse word was definitely...flustering.

She glared at him, daring him to say something. He didn't and it seemed to make her more aggravated.

"What do you want, John? Because I know you don't want this." She gestured to his half packed bag and in the silence that followed, John heard the sound of metal clinking together.

Impulsively, he moved closer to Odella, his gaze on the dressing gown that hid most of a chain that was barely visible under the material. Hooking a finger under the metal, he tugged, bringing out his dog tags with two rings on either side of the punched plates; the matching rings Sherlock had given them for the case they had pretended to be married.

Moving his eyes back up to Odella's face, he stared at her a little unbelievably.

Placing her hands on his, Odella asked again, "What do you want, John?" It was asked quietly, almost whispered.

Not even thinking, John answered, "You."

"I'm right here. I've been here the whole time." Removing his hands from the chain, she placed them on her waist, letting her robe fall open. "I'm not going to leave you. And you're not going to leave me." Clenching her hands in his jumper, she pulled him closer.

The first kiss was gentle, just a feathery brush of lips. The next one was bruising, and involved teeth, nails and the hard pressure of the wooden door against Odella's back.

John hissed when she drug her teeth across his collarbone and then again when she dug her fingers into his scar, his clothing already having been tossed to the floor in a matter of seconds. The duffle bag was thrown against the opposite wall, its spot on the bed quickly replaced with Odella, her legs wrapped tightly around John, ankles crossed at his lower back.

Breathing heavily, she arched above the mattress, her nails creating crescent shaped marks around John's shoulder blades. It was a furiously paced event, neither one of them willing to stop to save their lives, until they both relieved the pressure that had built and- was continuing to build in a different manner- between them.

Finally, it came to an end, names being screamed, breath being held and toes being curled, before they both collapsed back against the bed, panting into each other's necks and mouths.

 

~

Sherlock was pretty sure the whole of Baker Street could hear the sound of John's wooden headboard pounding against the wall and smiled, taking it as a sign of victory for the three of them.

 

~

John groaned and rolled off of Odella, only to have her follow him and drape herself across his chest. Now that the desperate, rushed grasping and thrusting was over, Odella moved slowly as she propped herself up and nudged John's lips open, lazily professing her love.

John let his hands wander, delighting in her softness. He became easily excited when she swung a leg over his and stretched herself against him. She was distractedly placing open-mouthed kisses across his jaw and neck, and when she reached his scar, she unexpectedly brushed across it lovingly.

Pulling her back up to his mouth, John knew he wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.

 

~

An hour, another declaration of Odella's, an unpacked bag, and a shower later, the three of them were sitting in the living room.

Sherlock was briefing John about a new case rather excitedly and Odella watched on, smiling softy into her mug of tea. She saw the way both of them seemed to almost sag with relief that things had returned to normal, feeling the same herself.

Odella was still lost in thought when Sherlock's words brought her back "...underground heroin market."

"Wait. What?" Both John and Sherlock turned to her as she sat up straighter and placed her mug on the coffee table, tense.

"There's been almost twenty deaths in the last four months, all of them from overdosing on heroin. They were all men, some in government positions." Sherlock's attention was focused on Odella, noticing her hands clenching in her lap and her lip disappearing into her mouth for her to chew on worriedly.

She furrowed her brow and looked off into the distance. The two men let her, knowing she would tell them what was bothering her after she had time to reach her conclusions in her head.

"I..think Corbin and Adrian had.." She closed her eyes to better sort through her memories, "...the place I was kept was a drug den." She opened her eyes, still frowning.

"The men who...brought you over from America?" John asked, skirting around what he had originally planned to say.

Odella nodded, giving John a grateful look for putting his question delicately. "Do you have pictures of the..victims?"

Sherlock didn't move for a second, waiting for any sign of hesitation from Odella, worried that her involvement in this case could turn ugly.

She sighed, "Sherlock, I am perfectly capable at looking at a few photographs without jumping off the sane train." Nodding, he handed over the case file.

Splaying out the photographs on the coffee table, she folded her legs underneath herself and leaned over them. She scanned them, tilting her head at some in thought and giving others a dismissive glance. Separating them into piles, Odella handed ones she didn't recognize back to Sherlock, keeping a handful. She held them each up to the light individually and pursed her lips in thought.

"I've seen these men before; they were often sitting with Corbin and Adrian on nights I danced."

"Are you sure?" Sherlock asked. Odella made a hmming sound and nodded.

"Do you happen to remember where this place was?"

"It was somewhere with a basement. It has to be somewhere close by, too; I don't think I was able to run very far that night. And I think it was by some kind of coffee shop or something: there was the smell of bitter coffee beans the night I ran." She rubbed her temples. "That's all I can remember."

"That's more than we had to start with." Sherlock looked like he was containing his glee for the sake of Odella and she smiled, sitting back to return to her tea.

 

~

"John, I would like Odella to sleep in my room again, tonight." Sherlock said as he pulled his coat on.

"Why? You had her last night." John frowned.

"Yes, but I am also in the need of more sleep than usual, and I can't possibly fall asleep without her." He said it as if John was asking him why he felt the need to breath.

"That's not fair Sherlock. You can't be selfish."

"Will you two stop arguing over me like I'm a new favorite toy? I can hear you." Odella's voice came from the kitchen, startling both the men.

"Right. Sorry." John called back, slightly blushing.

"It's alright. I've got an idea." Odella walked into the living room where they were getting ready to head out the door. "See you two in a little while." She placed kisses on both John and Sherlock's cheeks before ushering them out of the flat.

 

~

Hours later, John sighed as he walked up the stairs behind Sherlock. He continued up the second flight to his room and paused in his doorway.

"Sherlock?! Where's my bed?" John yelled down into the flat, his mind coming up with all kinds of different experiments that might have or might not have involved having his mattress and bedframe blown up for the science.

"What are you talking about? I haven't touched your bed." Sherlock yelled back before walking into his own room. "John? I think I may have found it."

John walked into Sherlock's room and found Odella sitting in the middle of two beds. Where an empty space between Sherlock's bed and the wall was, John's bed had been shoved there, creating one large bed.

Odella smiled. "I told you had an idea. Now instead of sharing me, we are sharing beds." She laughed at the expressions on the other two's faces and sprawled herself out across both beds.


	10. Chapter 10

Odella was dreaming:

_She was in a field, one that looked familiar. The surrounding woods made her think of home and she knew then, that she was standing in the exact spot where her childhood home had once stood. She wasn't sure how she knew, but it was a bone-deep conviction._

_With this in mind, she could faintly see the imprint of a house's foundation in the dry dirt. Bending down, she ran her hand across the ground, the dusty earth releasing small tan puffs of smoke when she sifted it through her fingers._

_Standing again, she began walking. She knew where she wanted to go but wasn't sure if the way to get there was the same in a dream as it was when she was young. So she just walked._

_She followed the small path that cut through the tall trees of the woods and even though she could see deer tracks, nothing seemed to move in the surrounding forest._

_Finally, she came to a small meadow, the tall grass bending in an invisible breeze. Patches of buttercups were dispersed throughout the green and a gray tombstone could be seen underneath the tallest oak tree Odella had ever seen. Just as she remembered._

_She realized she had stopped moving; waiting at the edge of the trees, frozen at the familiarity and intimacy of the area. Stepping forward, she felt sun warm the top of her head, her hair turning red in the light._

_She stopped again when she was a few feet from the grave marking and fell to her knees. She tried to read the inscription through her suddenly teary eyes and found she knew exactly what was written on the stone, the words memorized from the day the granite had been placed here._

_She traced the engravings with her fingers, lingering on the word 'mother' for half a second more. The letters felt deeper than the others, more meaningful and she didn't know why._

_Dropping her hand, she bent her head, the tears rippling down and smattering the ground in between herself and the felt compelled to watch the tears disappear into the soil and couldn't seem to look away, as if she were waiting for something._

_Suddenly, two green shoots sprouted out of the ground, the vines winding their way across the grass and began twisting around her waist. She watched in interest as the green plants weaved over her stomach before two large flowers burst from the ends of the stalks._

_Odella watched each individual petal unfold on the blooms, one blossom a milky white, the other a golden yellow. She slid them into her hands and marveled at how different they were and how much she adored both of them._

_Lying on her side, she cradled them to her chest and smiled._

_~_

She woke up in the dip created by both beds pushed together. She struggled out of the sheets and made a mad dash for the bathroom. She had just managed to pull her hair back before the contents of her stomach fell into the toilet.

Odella retched again and spit into the bowl. She stood up and winced at the taste left in her mouth. Picking up her toothbrush she unscrewed the cap to the toothpaste. The minty aroma reached her nose and she felt her stomach turn again, forcing her to lean back over the toilet for a second time.

Sitting back on her heels, she rested her back on the wall and closed her eyes. Dream-like images flashed behind her lids and when she opened them again, she found her hands resting on her warm stomach. Staring at her splayed fingers, she felt herself go completely still.

No. She couldn't... _Shit. Shit. Shit._

Odella couldn't breath, the sound of her gasping for air echoing against the porcelain. Questions ran through her mind at hyper speed until finally, she was able to stop panicking. Standing up shakily, she looked at herself in the mirror, and slowly lifted her shirt. Unsure of what she was expecting, she stared at her belly with wide eyes, running a hand across it. Taking a deep breath she lowered the top and bit her lip.

She wasn't one hundred percent sure but she felt pretty close.

 

~

We've had a sighting." Adrian slapped down a CCTV photo.

"Excellent. Where?" Corbin studied the image predatorily.

"Not far from here: Baker Street."

"Then what are we waiting for?" Standing, he stubbed out his large cigar on the pretty face in the photo, smiling.

 

~

How was she possibly going to tell John and Sherlock? She couldn't not mention it; Sherlock would catch on.

Odella sighed and paced the flat, trailing her fingers along every item she passed unconsciously. She was irritable and restless, having no one to talk to except the skull on the mantle, who wouldn't and couldn't offer any advice.

It was during her fifth circulation of the sitting room that she heard a car door slam shut. Fearing it was the detective and the doctor, Odella raced to the window.

Her fear took on a heavier weight, settling in her stomach like a frigid stone. Stepping onto to the sidewalk were two men she had never wished to see again. And they were headed right for the black front door.

Stepping back from the window frantically, Odella looked around for an escape, mistaking the heartbeats in her head as boots coming up the stairs.

Running into the bedroom, she froze when loud knocks came from downstairs, quickly followed by the door being open. Panicking, she dived into the wardrobe, huddling amid Sherlock's suits, muffling her unbelieving sobs against her clenched fist.

The sound of the flat door creaking open made a her catch her breath, silently pleading for help. Low voices she had dreaded hearing again slowly moved through the front rooms.

"Check everywhere. The neighbors said she didn't leave with the others. She has to be here."

Biting down on her clenched knuckles, Odella felt more than heard the impact of the bedroom being entered. Thinking fast, she knew if she was to be rescued- for she knew she would be found by the man in the room- then she needed to leave something for that beloved brain of Sherlock's to work out.

Closing her eyes, she retraced the day, so long ago, that she ran through the streets in a bloodied dress. Moving as quietly as possible, she had managed to place her last clue when the wardrobe door was yanked open and she tumbled out.

Shocked, she let out a cry, one that intensified when a hand gripped her hair and pulled her up, arching her head back.

"It's been a while." Odella looked at Adrian through the tears that gathered from the prickling pain coming from her scalp.

Without taking his eyes off hers, he turned slightly. "Found her." Grinning, he tightened his fingers, drawing a hiss from Odella's mouth. The bedroom door was pushed open wider, and a tall man with white-blonde hair and bottomless, blue eyes walked towards her and Adrian, a smile slowly curling his thin lips.

"Well, hello. Tsk, tsk, it has been quite a long time since I've had the pleasure of having you in my company. What, four months? Five? That really is much too long for my tastes. Let's have a look, shall we?" Corbin caught her chin in a vice grip, the corners of his lips inclining when she winced at the twinge in her scalp as her head was lowered down, while Adrian still had his fist in her hair.

"You appear to be in good shape. Can't have my possessions damaged, now can we? I would have had to arrange quite the unfortunate accident for your two friends if that were the case." He angled her face as if inspecting her for any hint of mistreatment.

Odella resisted the urge to spit in his face, knowing he would have retaliated through Adrian. So she held her hatred in, unwilling to put herself intentionally in harm's way, for more than her own sake.

"I am extremely interested to hear what you have been up to these last few months, but that can wait until we are home." Corbin let her go and stepped back. "Now, you can walk out of this building willingly, or Adrian here can try his darnest to convince you to do so. It's up to you, but remember, I doubt your little mates would appreciate a mess on their lovely wood flooring." He smiled maniacally before turning around and walking out.

Adrian released his grip on her hair and gave her a push. She followed Corbin, feeling as if she were on her way to the executioner's block. Right before she walked out of the flat door, she halted, making Adrian run into her.

Turning, she stepped farther back into the living room, refusing to leave without one last look at the only place she had really felt she belonged. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, trying to remember the smell of Sherlock's books, John's tea, and her lavender shampoo that seemed to make up the essence of the flat. She opened her eyes, attempting to take in the messy room but finding her vision clouded over with tears.

Before the first drop fell, Odella turned and walked out, praying for Sherlock and John to hurry and get home, find her clues, and rescue her. Her life wasn't the only one at stake now.

 

~

Sherlock paused on the steps, his shoulders going rigid under his long black coat. John looked around him, but saw nothing.

"Sherlock, what's wrong?" Instead of answering, Sherlock took timid steps up the stairs.

"Odella?" He called into the flat, cocking his head to listening. "Odella?"

John could hear something in Sherlock's voice that set him on edge. It didn't help when the taller man stormed into the flat, his eyes darting around the sitting room frantically.

"ODELLA?" Both the bedroom and the bathroom door were thrown open, both empty.

"Sherlock, what's going on?" John grabbed Sherlock's upper arm as he whipped past him, halting the man on his furious search.

"Something's not right." His eyes were roaming over every surface, "She's not here and their are boot prints on the floor." He locked gazes with John. "None of us wear boots."

John let Sherlock go and watched him thunder down the stairs. He looked around the flat, trying to play off his sudden nausea as something other than a premonition. Now that he looked, he could see the prints Sherlock was talking about and slowly followed them into their bedroom.

He jumped when the detective appeared at his elbow. "The neighbors said someone came inside the house about two hours ago. Two men." Sherlock seemed much more calm than when he had run out of the building, almost detached. "There has to be something here. Odella wouldn't just leave without attempting to give some kind of clue as to where she was going."

"What makes you think she would have left something?" John watched Sherlock cock his head and squint his eyes at his open wardrobe.

"Because John: she's smart. And scared, if she felt like she needed to be found." Kneeling down, he pushed the wardrobe door open wider and frowned. He stared at his shoes, usually in perfect order, that were now disorganized.

_Left shoe_

_Left shoe_

_Two shoes crossed_

_Left shoe_

_Right shoe_

_Right shoe_

All the other shoes were piled in the back corner, only those seven shoes placed with care in plain sight. Sherlock shifted and something glinted in the middle of the shoe pile. A letter opener that had previously held one of his notes was shoved in the midst of the discarded shoes.

Moving the shoes and creating another pile of them on the floor outside of the wardrobe, Sherlock felt somewhat relieved and proud at Odella's quick thinking at what he found: Carved shallowly into the wood bottom, she had left a note.

_Follow me back_

"John. Give me your phone." Sherlock plucked the device out of John's hands and pulled up the satellite map. Looking between the phone and his shoes, he shot up and ran out of the flat, striding up the stairs and out onto the roof.

"Sherlock, seriously. Tell me what the hell is going on." John found his jaw ached from where he had been clenching it in anticipation for Sherlock to reveal whatever he had discovered.

"She left directions. She knew where she was going even before she walked out the front door. They've taken her." John didn't need to question who they were, and by the way Sherlock was staring out across the rooftops, his hand squeezed around the phone, he was worried.

"So where is she?" John watched the wind lift Sherlock's curls, the grey sky above them boiling with rain clouds.

"The building she was being held in before she ran." Sherlock looked back at his phone and pressed a few buttons before holding the device up to his ear.

"Mycroft? I've found the headquarters for the underground drug market. But there's another matter that might require your assistance..."

 

~

"As you can see, the place hasn't changed much." Corbin spread his arms as he led Odella and Adrian into the grey-walled room that was ever-present in her dreams.

Odella said nothing, just as she had in the ride here, silently praying to anyone who would listen and help. She flinched when she felt Adrian's hands clamp down on her upper arms and led her deeper into the room.

Odella felt panic rise in her throat as she spotted the ropes hanging from the supporting beams.

"Ah, so you remember. Good." Corbin smiled at her obvious attempts at to remain calm.

She could feel bile threatening to escape from her stomach and her breath seemed to stop coming as Adrian silently tied her wrists to the metal columns, followed by her feet.

Corbin watched on smugly, his hands behind his back. He chuckled when Odella pulled on the ropes and winced when they dug into the flesh on her wrists.

"You know it only gets worse when you struggle." He stepped closer and pulled one hand from behind, a long skinny knife catching the low lights overhead.

Odella held her breath and turned her head away, closing her eyes. It was the same knife from before. But instead of feeling the burning blade on her skin, she felt a tug and heard the sound of ripping cloth. Air met her bare stomach and then her legs as Corbin cut away her shirt and pants, leaving her in her underwear.

"If I had known you looked this good when regularly fed, I would have provided more." The blade tip traced her side, starting at the under wire in her bra and stopping at her thigh. Odella pulled her lips in, fighting the urge to throw up in fear.

The clattering of metal on metal made her jump and open her eyes. Corbin had thrown the knife on a steel table, and was looking at the other items laid out on it.

"Hm. It seems as if I don't have what I want here." He turned to face Odella. "Don't go anywhere, I'll be right back." He winked and skipped up the stairs.

Odella waited for the door to shut before turning a pleading gaze to Adrian.

"Adrian. Let me go. Please. I don't think I can...I can't do this again." She bit her lip and watched the man blur in front of her teary eyes.

"Can't." He didn't meet her eyes, just stared at the corner of her mouth.

"Why not?" She became angry at his lack of eye contact.

"Owe him my life." Adrian lifted his gaze to the ceiling.

"By giving him mine? You think he's going to let me off with a few new scars this time?"

His face twitching with his attempts at trying to control some inner struggle.

"You're a coward." Odella spit at his feet, the tears falling in both anger and the fear of how true her own words were.

"Pardon me, did I interrupt anything?" Corbin bounced down the stairs, his smile widening at Odella's wet cheeks. "You'll be oh so happy to know I found what I was looking for."

A black whip was uncoiled in his hand and he snapped it in the air, his eyes dancing. "Oh, yes. This will work beautifully."

It was then he seemed to notice Odella's accusing gaze locked onto Adrian, who was looking at the ground numbly.

"Adrian. Why don't you test it out first." Corbin held out the whip. Without looking, Adrian took it in his hand and walked behind Odella. She immediately tensed at the expected blow but Corbin captured her attention:

"While we're here, might as well have a nice chat, no? What shall we talk about, hm? Let's see; there is the time you killed one of my men, completely ruined my bathroom with his entrails and blood, and ran away. That's a good place to start, wouldn't you say?" Odella could see a simmering heat behind his eyes but was distracted as Adrian drew in a breath behind her.

She took it as some sort of warning and brace herself for the stinging stripe that landed on her back. She didn't make a sound. She refused.

"Oh, come now. We both know how much you like to scream. Go ahead. Scream as loud as you want." Corbin's voice was close, but Odella wouldn't open her eyes.

She felt her knees buckle on the next blow, but straightened again only to be hit just as she drew in a breath. She clenched her teeth and bit back her cry.

Odella lost count of how many times she heard the whip whistle through the air, more focused on refusing Corbin the satisfaction of making her scream.

She slowly felt herself unlock her knees and droop towards the ground, standing becoming too much of an effort. Her shoulders burned with the weight of holding her body but she could now focus more on keeping quiet, retreating inside herself without even trying. Her last coherent thoughts were a prayer:

_Oh God, don't let John and Sherlock forget how much I love them. Even though I've never said it. And make this as painless as possible for the child. Please._

Odella unclenched her jaw and fell into memories:

_She woke to someone wiping away tears that leaked from her eyes. Odella frowned, not remembering what caused her to cry in her sleep and lifted her lids to meet stormy grey irises. Sherlock's lips were tightened with concern as he brushed the last of the salt water away._

_"What was it?" He continued to stroke her face._

_She shook her head. "I can't remember." catching Sherlock's hand in her own, she turned her head to kiss his palm. "It was only a dream, anyway."_

_Sherlock watched fascinated as she placed kisses on his fingers, her tongue sneaking out at one point to lick the drying tears off the pads of his fingers. It was certainly...stimulating._

_Grinning, Odella sat up and looked down at the man laying next to her. "Mm. I like waking up next to you."_

_She was surprised to feel so..needy of Sherlock at this time of morning. It was as if there was an itch somewhere inside her and only two things could reach it. And one of those things just so happened to be watching her with wide eyes as she leaned forward and ran a hand across his stomach under his shirt._

_Odella felt his breath falter and she wasted no time throwing a leg over to straddle those narrow hips she would never tire of. Raising an eyebrow at Sherlock's obvious interest, she watched a gorgeous blush color high cheek bones._

_She wiggled her hips, "It's times like these I'm thankful I'm not fond of pajama bottoms. Wouldn't you say?"_

_Sherlock could only grasp her thighs as she continued to move atop him. Leaning on her palms she had placed on either side of Sherlock's curly mane, she rolled her hips back and pressed her chest against his._

_"Or bras," She managed a little breathlessly._

_~_

_The itch was still there. Fainter but still there._

_Odella left Sherlock splayed across the bed and after a lingering kiss, headed for the shower._

_The bathroom door was cracked and the sound of water on porcelain came from within. Pushing the door farther open, Odella could see John outlined behind the shower curtain. And the itch reared its head again._

_Closing the door behind her, she stepped into the steam. John poked his head around the curtain and caught sight of a very undressed Odella leaning against the sink, biting her bottom lip._

_Clearing his throat, he held out the curtain. "Shower?"_

_Smirking a little, Odella climbed in, using John's waist to balance herself as she closed her eyes and tilted her head back under the hot water. John could see her throat vibrate with her low moan, and couldn't stop himself from leaning down and placing small pecks across the soft, warm skin._

_Odella dropped her chin and caught John's mouth with hers. Just as he was tugging at her bottom lip, she pulled back._

_"How long does the hot water usually last?" It took a moment for John to filter blood to his brain._

_"Forty-five minutes."_

_"Good." Grinning slyly, Odella pulled John towards her, putting her between him and the shower wall. She wrapped one leg around his waist and the other quickly followed._

_"Now, where were we?"_

_~_

John had to jog to keep up with Sherlock as he strode down the street. At the corner, they both climbed into a black van, settling beside Mycroft and surprisingly, Lestrade.

"She left directions, but they are backwards. She could only remember the turns she took to Baker Street so by taking the opposite directions, I've pinpointed which street it is on. She mentioned before that it is likely beside some sort of coffee shop or cafe. She also recognized some of the previous victims that were found overdosed. Whoever has her is also the ringleaders of this drug trade."

John bit the inside of his lip, becoming extremely irritated at Sherlock's detached explanation and his avoidance of saying Odella's name.

"I fear that if we go in guns blazing, she could be placed in more harms way. It is completely possible that she is being harmed at this moment, and so I believe time is of the essence."

Mycroft took in Sherlock's closed off face and knew he very close to panicking. John on the other hand, just saw the coldness of the man.

"Give me the address and I will have my men posted there." Lestrade already had his phone in his hand, as did Mycroft.

 

~

_Odella could hear a bird chirping outside the bedroom window and rolled over to bury her head into John's neck. The bird continued to chirp and no matter how far Odella pushed her head into John, the noise refused to quiet._

_"John. Shoot it." She mumbled into his stumble and felt him move to look down at her._

_"Shoot what?"_

_"That damned bird. It won't shut up. Shoot it." Odella grumbled again._

_There was a pause before Odella could feel John's chest and the bed behind her start to shake._

_"Stop moving." She threw a pillow over her head, Sherlock and John's laughter only getting louder. Pulling her head back out, her hair stood up with static from the friction created and gave a withering glare at both men. It only made them laugh even more._

_"Go ahead. Laugh. But you won't be so giggly when you have to snuggle with each other on the couch tonight."_

_"You can't kick us out: there's one of you and two of us. There's no way you are getting the bed all to yourself." John smoothed down one side of her hair._

_"Oh, really?" Odella made as if to stretch and with her arms, pushed Sherlock one way and with her feet pushed John the other, both of them too surprised to stop themselves from ending up on the floor._

_Odella's face appeared above John's, her eyes dancing. "What was that about kicking you out?"_

_He could hear Sherlock start to laugh again from the other side and felt his own face break out in smile._

_~_

"Sherlock. What the hell is wrong with you?" John grabbed Sherlock by his elbow just as they were crawling out of Mycroft's car.

"What? What do you mean? I am fine." Sherlock was barely paying attention to the smaller man, his eyes watching Lestrade converse with one of his men instead.

"This! Ever since we've walked out of the flat, you've been...Mycroft. You've been acting like Mycroft!"

Sherlock's eyes snapped to John now, and the heat behind those grey irises was frantic. "John. You need to understand that I've only made it this far, pieced together this much, because I cannot address the panic practically suffocating me. It will just slow me down, possibly shut my brain down, and Odella-" He visibly winced as he said her name, "-she is counting on my brain. Do you understand?"

John bit his lip and nodded. He reached up and brushed a spot of wetness out of the corner of Sherlock's eye and ran a thumb across his cheekbone before pulling the detective in the direction of Lestrade.

 

~

_"Molly!" Odella ran through the morgue doors, wrapping the skinnier girl in a hug. Sherlock and John followed, discussing the case._

_"It's so good to see you! You look good. Much healthier, if you don't mind me saying." Molly blushed as the words came out of her mouth._

_Odella laughed, "Thank you. So do you. Good, I mean. You looked perfectly healthy the last time I saw you."_

_Molly visibly relaxed, much to John and Sherlock's amazement; Never before had they seen Molly so comfortable around another live person._  
 _Content to let them chatter, the two men made their way over to the body Molly had laid out for them._

_"You've been seeing someone." Odella said, noticing the subtle changes in Molly's makeup that suggested she was trying to look her best._

_Molly blushed again and giggled. "He's an old friend, actually. I never thought he was interested but we went out for coffee the other day and...well." More giggling. "What about you?"_

_Now Odella blushed slightly. "Mm, you could say I'm seeing someone." Her gaze wandered to the two men working across the room._

_Molly's eyes widened. "Which one?" And Odella blushed even more._

_"Both." She bit her cheek, unsure of how Molly would react._

_"Actually, I'm not that surprised; they both make the most adorable googly eyes at you when you aren't looking. And it makes sense. I mean, how could you really not have one without the other?" Molly wiggled her eyebrows teasingly, making Odella laugh._

_"You're good for them." Molly smiled, watching Odella gaze at them lovingly._

_~_

"The building's empty. Only the basement is occupied." Lestrade looked up from the heat detector, angling the screen away from John and Sherlock's eyes, trying to spare them the image of a smaller body practically hanging from its arms in the middle of the room.

"It's best if my men go in first, apprehend the two men and then the paramedics can go in." Both the detective and the doctor seemed as if they wanted to object until the mention of the need of medical assistance made them both pale.

"Do whatever you think will get her out safely." Mycroft spoke up, placing a hand on his brother's arm.

 

~

_They were all on the couch, Sherlock sitting at one end with his knees drawn up to his chin, staring at the television with a frown on his face. John was at the other end, drinking a cup of tea and laughing at both Sherlock's and Odella's sarcastic comments at the television program. Odella was lying between the two, her head on John's lap, her hair spilling across his legs and beckoning him to run his fingers through it while her legs were shoved under Sherlock to keep her feet warm._

  
_A preview for a scary movie came on and Odella scoffed at the actress. "Oh yes, go ahead and walk towards the loud noise in the basement. Maybe it's just the neighbor stopping by to check up on you. After all, you are all alone and helpless. Grab the frying pan! You just walked by the freakin' kitchen. You could have grabbed anything, like a knife. Idiot!"_

  
_Sherlock looked away from the screen, amused. "They can't hear you, you know."_

  
_Odella shoved her feet deeper under Sherlock and wiggled her toes against his bottom. "Even if she could hear me, she wouldn't listen. The pretty ones are always the dumb ones, anyways."_

  
_Sherlock frowned. "You're not dumb. In fact, you are actually above the average intellectual."_

  
_Odella squinted at Sherlock, unsure if he was just teasing her or if he was serious. "Are you saying I'm pretty?"_

  
_"Beautiful." John smiled down at Odella and Sherlock hmmed in agreement._

  
_"No one has ever called me beautiful," She frowned a little disbelieving before offering both of them a smile. "Thank you."_

  
_And she turned back to yelling at the television._

_~_

Odella could hear the sound of shouting and scuffling but it sounded as if she were being held underwater. She didn't notice the absence of the stinging blows on her now numb back, nor did she notice the cooling blood pooling in the dip in her spine.

She did feel the tip of something sharp against her neck and screaming in her ear. A burning sensation broke across her skin and she cried out. The object was quickly removed though and then two very familiar voices were surrounding her.

"Jo..Sher.." Odella tried to open her eyes but they were clenched when hands began touching her. Pain made her scream and she jerked away, making her arms feel like they were slowly being ripped from her torso.

Nothing seemed real, and as soon as her arms were lowered mercifully, she immediately curled them around her stomach, attempting to protect something she wasn't even sure was still there.

As the paramedics lowered Odella onto a stretcher, she refused to uncurl her body. Both John and Sherlock helped the others unfold her gently, wincing from her screaming.

All of a sudden, she went deathly quiet and fearing she had blacked out, John leaned down, turning Odella's head to look at him. Her eyes were unfocused and feral and she was muttering something.

"Odella, what are you trying to say?" John signaled for everyone to stop moving to better hear the woman.

"The...the...protect the...can't lose.." Her lips shook as she repeated fragmented words.

"Odella. What do you have to protect?" Sherlock stepped closer now, fear and suspicion in his face.

"The...the..The baby." Her eyes rolled back as she went limp against the stretcher.


	11. Chapter 11

And so this is the end of Becoming Odella. I would like to thank those who followed through the rocky bits. This turned out much longer than I had anticipated, but then again, this story has been in my head since May. There will be a sequel, Staying Odella, that will hopefully be shorter and not so time-consuming. I also plan to upload a list of the soundtrack I used, one that will probably be updated regularly as I continue to write Staying Odella. Once again, thanks to all who read, favorited, followed, and commented. You never realize how much you need outside approval on something until you get it :D

P.S. This might sound a tad sadistic, but I really enjoyed writing the last chapter. It is one of my favorites. ;)


	12. Chapter 12

[Soundtrack List](http://www.fanfiction.net/s/8400064/14/Becoming-Odella)


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